The Switchover
by Les Varioufs
Summary: Welcome to the most insane trip of your life, there will be monsters, wizards, wonderous creatures, giant squids, but no octopuses, telepathic crazies.. the author does not give compensation for any wonderfully trippy things you may see or encounter
1. The Switchover

**Author's Note:** Before you read the story, I would like to take the time to thank Gothic Cheshire, who has tirelessly devoted much of her time to the editing of mistakes (both big and small) in this story. Without her help and ever-present support, this would not have been at all possible, and I am extremely grateful to her.

Updates will be regular, since I have already completed it, so there is no chance that it will be left unfinished. Also, for those who do not like reading such pairings, there will be light slash later on in the story. I will post a warning before these chapters begin so that they can be avoided if you wish to do so. Anyway, that's enough from me...I shut up and present you with the first chapter, which I hope you enjoy.

oOo

**1. The Switchover.**

The wind wafted through the trees, dying down to a bare whisper by the time it reached the small clearing in the forest. Figures huddled in a circle, a black line around a pale man in the middle. A protective barrier against any enemy that could unexpectedly breach the protection charms that had been erected. Wands were being grasped beneath thick, heavy cloaks, hopefully not to be used. Eyes alternately shifted nervously or rested upon their leader with adoration, his skin seeming to shine in the inky blackness, a full moon watching over him from above.

He turned away from his messenger, dismissing him with a brush of his hand, uttering not even a word to the terrified youngster who scampered away to stand at the outermost rims of the dark line. His deformed snake like head rose as he sniffed at the sky, a habit that he had picked up from Nagini, his flat nose seeming to search for a trace of any unknown scent, any intruder that could ruin the moment.

He lowered his red rimmed eyes, satisfied, to the rim of devoted Death Eaters before him, glancing at each of them in turn. For some, this inspired courage and pure devotion, while others felt their legs tremble of their own volition, their ears stop hearing. He noted all of this with cold satisfaction, knowing that those gathered before him would remain loyal to the end, whether through fear or genuine wish to serve, he did not care.

They knew that if they did not, they would be punished.

He cleared his throat, feeling his heart pick up its beat to bang out a staccato rhythm born of adrenaline. This was the moment that he had been waiting for, ever since that damned curse had rebounded. This was the moment that would define his victory, name him the ruler over the whole of the Wizarding world.

This was the moment that the Muggles he despised would fear, if they knew that it existed.

"Is everything prepared?" His voice was as cold as the wind that raged outside the forest, and bleak as the night sky. It was a voice in which all hope could drown.

Bellatrix Lestrange stepped enthusiastically forward, the only one to break the chain. "Everything, my Lord."

His eyes narrowed at the other Death Eaters, who shuffled their feet at the memory of the way that everything had been readied. The screams of countless victims died in their ears, although none of them would ever admit to being haunted by such memories. The rare few that relished them, that were truly sympathetic to the Dark Lord's cause, remained still, their eyes shining at the images that raced through their minds. The amusement that they had had readying this spell for their master's use.

"It has been tested thoroughly?"

Bellatrix's eyes danced with the emotion of the moment. "We would wish nothing better for our Lord."

He nodded once, acknowledging her always diligent efforts on his behalf. A servant like her was always useful, especially in times of crisis. Or victory, such as this. Breathing in, he could practically smell the success in the air, the blood that would soon be his.

"I will need three volunteers."

Bellatrix immediately stepped forward, her deranged face showing her absolute adoration for the man that stood before her, her absolute willingness to bow to his every whim. "I would be honoured, my Lord." She ducked her head slightly.

Voldemort relished the moment, feeling the rush of power that always came from such complete and total obedience. No one else moved, and he allowed his eyes to narrow slightly as he glared at one man who stood out from the crowd, his face pale beneath the blond, styled hair. "Lucius, I'm disappointed in you. Don't you want to test your own spell?" His voice adopted a slight menacing tone towards the end of his sentence. If Malfoy had deliberately botched the composition of the spell, he would be sure to suffer the consequences along with his Lord. Although he was a trusted servant, he was taking no chances. Chances had led to his failure.

The man visibly gulped. "Of course, my Lord."

He cocked his head to the side in calm consideration, imagining the unsteady drum of the heart beneath the man's cloaks as he stepped forwards, into the view of all who bore witness. "Is there something that you're not telling me, Lucius?"

"No, my Lord," the man stammered.

The pale head bobbed slightly in what most of his close workers would recognise as a nod. "Good. I would hate to have to punish you... you are very valuable to my services." He lifted his eyes to regard the rest of the crowd. "Who else will join me?"

There was a moment of hesitation, barely noticeable but there nonetheless, as everyone considered the option presented to them. They could join their Master in their attempt to finally penetrate the spells placed around the Potter house, or they could stay. And receive no merit for their help, no protection, no special treatment, for if the endeavour survived and the Dark Lord came to power, he would surely grant them that for such a personal sacrifice.

A young man, enthusiastic to the point of being overly so, and hair windswept, stepped forwards. "I will, my Lord."

The Lord did not even ask his name, since if they failed it would not be useful. "You will be rewarded for your courage."

He glanced pointedly at the crowd beyond him and then turned his back. The Death Eaters who would accompany him upon his self prescribed mission fell into a circle around him, wands raised to protect him should any danger arise after the spell. Raising his own wand in a fluid, practised motion, the cold high voice began to chant methodically, unfazed even as smoke began to swirl around their feet.

As the wind picked up with an inhuman force and penetrated the clearing, the remaining Death Eaters looked around in bewilderment, some even daring to flee into the comforting silence of the forest itself. Those who remained stood rooted to the spot, staring at the vacant space where their master had previously stood.

Nothing of him remained, but that was expected.

oOo

Captain Kirk sat slumped in his chair, feeling the boredom of a routine mission weighing heavily upon his shoulders where the burden of paperwork normally resided. His eyes blinked lazily as he regarded the view screen before him, the bright twinkles of light flying past with a rapidity approaching unbelievable, the familiar sight lulling him into a relaxed state that he had not felt in months.

Around him his crew worked diligently, either not feeling or not showing the lack of usefulness that he felt at that moment, busying themselves with mundane tasks. Not for the first time, he envied them. He hated the inactivity, the occasional helplessness that was associated with command. Particularly during those missions that were purely scientific, where his skills were not needed.

The doors whooshed open with their usual hiss, admitting yet another person to the unusually quiet Bridge. As he turned around to face the new arrival, a voice in the back of his mind whispered that this inactivity would not last for long; that it never did. He silenced it ruthlessly, opting instead for a wide smile as he saw that the arrival was Doctor McCoy.

"All quiet down in sick bay?" He asked, his voice gently teasing the older man who had come to a stop at the side of his chair. Together, they turned back to face the view screen.

"Of course," the man drawled sarcastically. "Why else would the Bridge be graced with my presence?"

Kirk chuckled at the routine exchange, marvelling at how little had really changed since he had gained command of the ship. "Are you sure you're not up here to tease Spock?"

McCoy rolled his eyes and leaned forwards slightly, lowering his voice. Kirk could see Chekov and Sulu exchange a smile, glad of the distraction from their work. "Now why would I do that? We both know that he's a lost cause."

"Or perhaps," the Vulcan in question intoned as he stepped up behind McCoy, making the surgeon jump, "it is merely because your attempts are impotent."

"Good Lord Spock! Are you _trying_ to give me a heart attack?" The grumbled words were belied by the gentle affection that rested beneath them, too subtle for anyone who did not know him to pick up.

As expected, an eyebrow rose at the challenge. "Of course not Doctor. That was not my intention."

"It never is..."

"Well," Kirk chirped, nodding his head at his left side, where an empty space remained. "Now you know why you always stand on that side."

"Yes...at least there I can see him coming and prepare myself for an attack."

"That, Doctor, would be illogical as any attempt to do so would be futile."

McCoy drew himself up; throwing himself into what had by now become legendary banter. "Oh yeah? You won't be saying that when I-"

"Kyptin!" They were interrupted by a sudden shout from Chekov, which diverted the rest of the attention of the Bridge to where the young Ensign was pointing. "A ghost, sir!"

Kirk's eyes widened in brief surprise as he saw a white figure fade in before him, only to disappear and then come back, slightly stronger than before, accompanied by a circle of three hooded figures. Red rimmed eyes stared into his own, studying him with disdain.

"Fascinating." Spock's voice drifted from his scanner, where he had begun running scans on whatever was materialising on their Bridge, his tone cool and professional.

"The Enterprise is haunted and all he can say is fascinating..." McCoy sniped under his breath.

"Not now Bones," Kirk admonished softly before flicking a button on the arm rest of his chair. "Kirk to Security."

"Security here. Trouble sir?"

"It...appears that way," Kirk murmured, eyes fixated upon the surreal image unfolding before him. "Send a Security detail to the Bridge. We have some unwanted visitors. Kirk out." He barely registered the man's affirmation before flicking the switch once more and turning to face his First Officer. "Spock?"

The Vulcan walked back over to the chair, hands folded behind his back. "They appear to be human, Captain."

"Then...how did they get aboard my ship?"

The dark haired head tilted to the side in a slightly negating fashion of regret. "I do not know, sir."

Kirk returned his gaze to the front of the ship, trying to ignore an uncomfortable feeling that he could not quite place. His limbs were becoming...almost light. As if he was no longer fully attached to his body. Blinking, he stood to address the strangers, and completely missed the brief flicker of concern upon the Vulcan's face. "My name is James T Kirk, commander of this vessel. Who are you and what are you doing aboard my ship?" A direct approach was best, he reasoned, noticing a few glances thrown in his direction at his unusually harsh tone. _The silence of space must be getting to me..._he thought briefly, feeling slightly light headed.

The pale figure grew slightly more solid, smoke now swirling around his ankles, adding more surreal atmosphere to the already tense and confusing situation. Without warning, Kirk swayed and would have fallen, had it not been for the steely grip around his arm keeping him upright.

"Captain, I strongly recommend that you sit down." The Vulcan's usual strong voice sounded fuzzy and weak, as though it was coming through a thick, almost impenetrable fog.

Next to him, he sensed rather than heard Doctor McCoy stumble, grabbing hold of the chair for support. "Does anyone else see smoke?" The surgeon murmured through the roaring in Kirk's ears.

"Yes," Spock replied, staring around the Bridge and shaking his head slightly. "Most unusual..."he swayed slightly and trailed off.

Sulu was standing up at his station and moving as though to come forward to help them, but Kirk waved him back with an almost limp hand, silencing the man's protests with one look. "No one come close. If this is what I think it is, then I don't want anyone else to be affected. Is that understood?" He saw rather than heard the general murmur of assent.

McCoy stared at him. "What _is_ happening?"

Kirk swallowed against the truth, his vision fading for a moment to be replaced with a wood. "He's replacing us. Spock, is there any way we can stop this?"

The Vulcan shook his head. "I have never encountered such a phenomenon before, Captain. Nevertheless, I believe that if we record the events as they unfold, we may be able to use the information gained to reverse the process."

Chekov must have heard this, because Kirk saw him through the smoke a moment later running to Spock's console and burying his face in the scanner, hurriedly writing down figures.

McCoy had now slumped to his knees. "Whoa..."

Spock gingerly moved around the Captain's chair to help the fallen officer, his own legs wobbly from the alien sensation. "Stay back." He sharply warned as the Security detail arrived. "No one interfere." He gently helped to keep McCoy upright. "Are you injured Doctor?"

"Of course not!" McCoy muttered, slightly disoriented. "I only fell to the floor..." his voice trailed off and he waved his hand in front of his face, grimacing. "The smoke is getting thicker."

Confused glances were exchanged all around the Bridge. "What smoke?" Sulu finally asked.

"You do not see any?" Spock questioned sharply. Sulu shook his head. "Not even surrounding them?" He repeated, nodding his head towards the now more solid looking people who were blinking in surprise.

"No sir."

"Fascinating," Spock exclaimed. "It appears Captain that only those affected by this phenomenon experience the sensation of seeing smoke. This may be a useful reference for the future."

"_I_ could have told you that," McCoy growled.

Kirk turned to see that the security detail remained stood in the doorway, mouths hanging open. Feeling disconnected from his mouth, he began issuing last orders. "Arm phasers, stun only. Shoot to kill only if they threaten the ship and there is no other option."

A Lieutenant in red nodded. "Understood."

"Good," Kirk said, before smoke took his vision completely and he felt himself falling. His body jerked once, and he landed with a loud _thump_ on his hands and knees, twigs shattering beneath his sudden weight. Beside him, he heard the startled exhalations of McCoy and Spock landing, and felt relief that at least he wouldn't be alone in this.

Whatever 'this' was.

Standing up and brushing himself off, he surveyed his surroundings, noticing that they appeared to be in a deserted clearing of a forest, the tree roots large and gnarled, mounds of Earth littering the ground in no apparent order.

"Where are we?"

"That, Doctor, remains to be discovered."

"Great," the Doctor drawled. "Once again we land face first in the muddy puddle of life..."

Kirk could practically hear the eyebrow rise at that comment, although the Vulcan did not deign to answer the surgeon's unusually prosaic phrasing.

"Now what?" McCoy demanded from behind him, and Kirk turned back around to see, to his horror, a giant spider looming silently over his friend.

Eyes going wide and mouth going dry, his voice miraculously managed to sound steady. "We...run away from the impossibly large spider which is about to eat us, if that answers your question."

McCoy blanched, his head twitching in a desire to look over his shoulder to see what was about to attack him, but frozen into place by immeasurable fear. Finally, he appeared to settle on hopeful disbelief. "Come on Jim, this isn't very damn funny! You _know_ I have a phobia of spiders and it doesn't help that you're willing to prey on that every time we go on a mission!"

"Doctor, the Captain is telling the truth. There is currently a rather large arachnid behind you."

"How large?" The Doctor squeaked.

"Large enough," Kirk replied, staring into the creature's eyes which loomed well above his own.

McCoy, having seen how high up the Captain was looking, appeared to break out of his stupor. He became a blur of yelling blue uniform, running away from the creature as fast as his legs could carry him, without even bothering to look behind him. After a brief glance, Captain and First Officer followed his example.

With slightly more professional restraint and dignity, of course.

Large booming sounds followed them mercilessly as they pounded through the forest undergrowth, braving large groups of thorns and even poisonous looking plants rather than face the impossible creature that chased them. Arms flailing and a steady stream of curses pouring from his mouth, McCoy led the retreat, jumping and dodging branches and holes with a skill that had remained, until now, previously undemonstrated. Spock brought up the rear of the group, occasionally putting his superior Vulcan strength to use by hurling a large log in the direction of the spider, which dodged the missiles with terrifying accuracy.

They could almost feel the air as it was pushed aside by the creature's legs as they wove through the dense growth, not even pausing to take stock of the direction that they were taking. A steady, rhythmic thump joined the previous set of footsteps, and McCoy finally risked a look behind, the resulting vision of two murderous looking spiders causing him to trip unceremoniously over a tree root.

"Holy Hell Jim you weren't kidding!" He bellowed as his two comrades picked him up and began running once more. It was a while before he realised that he was facing the wrong way, terror keeping his eyes fixed on the monster before him, legs hurriedly backpedalling and relying upon the guidance of his friends to lead him through the forest. "Let me turn around!" They immediately let go and he carried on running in a reassuringly normal position.

Before they could stop their progress, they found themselves running towards more rustling sounds, not really realising that it might bring more danger until too late. The spider first and foremost on their mind, it was only when they crashed into a large foot shaped object that they began to fully grasp the situation.

"Wait," McCoy gasped, "why does that rock look like a foot?"

"Doctor, it is merely a-"

Something creaked and shifted, sending small boulders crashing onto them.

"What was that?" McCoy squeaked, refusing to look up.

Kirk, who had turned to stare at the noise, gaped. "Bones...I don't know how to tell you this, but..."

"Spit it out, damn it, we're being chased by a giant spider! We don't have all day!"

"It's..." Kirk stuttered, unable to move. "It's...uh...slightly..." he coughed. "Yeah..."

Spock, who had fallen to the floor in the collision, remained on the leafy ground even as Kirk and McCoy bickered. "Fascinating," he muttered, staring into the huge face above his until he felt warm hands roughly trying to pull him to his feet.

"Jim...why are you manhandling Spo-"

"Because," Kirk interrupted urgently, "we need to move!"

"Fascinating," Spock repeated. "It appears that the object we originally considered to be a cliff face is in fact not inanimate."

"You're saying it's ALIVE?" McCoy screeched, finally looking up and coming face to face with the rocky figure of a man, blown completely out of proportion. "Holy-"

"This is no time for swearing," Kirk panted, pulling Spock around the back of the creature. "Bones, get back here!"

McCoy, who stood paralysed between the two mythical creatures, could only stare at Kirk. "Jim, I don't know if you've noticed or not, but hiding behind a giant living _rock_ isn't exactly the safest thing I had in mind!"

"Would you prefer to be eaten by a spider?"

There was little need for consideration. "Point taken," he gasped as he ran over to join his two superior officers, crouched behind the comforting solidity of the being. "But how will it help?"

"I don't know," Kirk admitted. "It seemed like the best option at the time."

The giant spider, which had apparently skidded to a stop along with its newest addition to the chase, appeared to consider the rock ogre with some trepidation. The ogre, for his part, simply raised his large and powerful fists, lunging for the creatures and howling his rage at his dominion being infiltrated.

"He appears to be territorial," Spock observed needlessly.

"No kidding!" McCoy yelled over the noise of the ogre tearing up trees and beginning to hurl them at the spiders.

Kirk, snapping out of his stupor, tapped them both on the shoulder. "This way. We can escape while they're both occupied."

Gingerly they abandoned the battle field and began once more to pick their way through the forest, with much more twitchiness in every movement on the part of the humans. "Well," McCoy began, his voice beginning to border on hysterical. "I'm glad that's over."

Spock's eyebrows rose. "It appears that your statement is premature."

McCoy forced himself to turn around, his jaw dropping at the sight that greeted him next. "Oh. _Fantastic._" He yelled to the world in general. "Nothing can ever come in just twos, can it? It _has_ to be threes!"

"Be quiet Bones," Kirk snapped, regarding the new creature before them, curiosity mingled with a little fear playing over his features.

"Is that a..._unicorn_?" McCoy asked; voice incredulous. "This damn place is like _Narnia!_"

"Highly illogical Doctor as Narnia is a fictitious location."

"And unicorns are fictitious creatures," McCoy countered.

Kirk absently began inching closer to the unicorn, whose horn seemed to glint slightly in the sunlight. The animal froze and turned to regard Kirk with beady, suspicious eyes. "Uh, Jim?" McCoy ventured closer to tap his Captain on the shoulder lightly when he did not respond. "It could be a trap."

Kirk did turn then, a grin plastered firmly on his face. "A trap? Bones, I think you've spent too much time in space. It looks perfectly harmless."

"Did you completely miss the part where we thought this forest was 'completely harmless' until we got chased by a psychotic spider?" The golden haired man continued to inch closer, his hand reaching out. "Spock, back me up here before our Captain gets trampled to death!"

The Vulcan obligingly cleared his throat. "While I do not believe that it is likely that you will get 'trampled to death' by a lone unicorn as the Doctor suggests, I must agree with him and suggest that you do not touch her, Captain."

"Her?" Came the absent reply as the Captain continued to obstinately inch closer.

"Yes. She is also pregnant and therefore may not take kindly to your touching her."

McCoy turned to stare at his companion in disbelief, the Captain momentarily forgotten in his surprise. "You know all that?"

"Vulcan eyes are very astute, Doctor."

"Sorry I asked..."

Kirk had once again tuned out their conversation and was now inches away from touching the horn of the unicorn, who had apparently gone from warily cautious to vicious in the space of a few seconds. He jerked his hands back from furiously gnashing teeth in the nick of time, back stepping furiously until he trod on McCoy's foot.

"I hate to say I told you so, Jim, so I won't say it," McCoy said snarkily as they began hurriedly retreating from the protective female unicorn.

"How gracious of you..."Kirk fairly growled as his uniform shirt got caught once more upon the merciless branches of the forest.

After much swearing, stomping and falling over, they finally emerged, the sunlight dazzling after the near darkness of the seemingly cursed forest. Before them was a sprawling tapestry straight from a magical kingdom; unbelievably green grass swayed gently in the breeze, resting contently beneath a perfectly clear blue sky. The cheerful yellow sun was mirrored in the vast expanses of a lake, its reflection rippling slightly as the air caressed the water. A hut sat to one side of a hill, contrasting the majestic castle which lay beyond it, the peaceful wood defying the sharp turrets, the magical aura of an ancient establishment.

McCoy, ignoring all of this, immediately sank to the ground, relief written plainly on his face. "You know, I could just kiss this grass."

"I would not advise it, Doctor. You do not know what toxins may be in it."

"At least it's not trying to kill us," McCoy snapped back.

Kirk, by contrast, was stretching leisurely and pacing back and forth, clapping his hands clean. "Well," he chirped, "that was close."

McCoy shifted his gaze to him in quiet disbelief. "That's all you can say?" He finally spluttered, voice rising hysterically and face beginning to turn red. "We just got attacked by a _psychotic spider_, _an ogre_, and a _unicorn_...and all you can say is 'that was close'?"

"Technically, Doctor, the ogre did not attack us."

"Don't you start," the surgeon snarled, rounding on the unsuspecting Vulcan.

Kirk shrugged with the casual air of a man used to the doctor's raging tirades. "What else is there to say?"

McCoy proceeded to stare goldfish style at him, lips absent of the usual barbed reply. Slightly unnerved by his friend's atypical lack of retort, Kirk turned to face the ever logical science officer, who was suspiciously busy at brushing foliage off of his clothes. "Mister Spock?" The Vulcan looked up, a slight twitch at the corner of his lips betraying him only slightly as he abandoned his endeavours and folded his hands back in his customary pose, despite his dishevelled state managing to look tightly composed. "What do you think of all this?"

"I find our circumstances to be highly improbable."

"Oh?" McCoy rejoined the conversation suddenly, a faint sting to his tone. "Isn't 'illogical' your usual phrasing Mister Spock?"

"I am permitted an occasional variation of my vocabulary Doctor, despite your protests." An eyebrow rose at the Doctor's answering scowl. "In any case, I do not believe that 'illogical' would suffice, given our current situation."

Chuckling lightly, Kirk placed a reconciliatory arm on each man's shoulder, gently drawing them forwards. "Let's just try to get to that castle. Maybe we can find help there."

"That would seem to be a logical solution to our predicament."

The only response was McCoy's customary eye roll at Vulcan speech patterns and Kirk's amused chuckle as they made their way together across the long, grassy slopes towards a sprawling castle. Passing a wooden dwelling on their way past, McCoy stared and almost stopped walking before appearing to recover and carry on the journey.

"I'm seeing giant creatures everywhere now," he muttered before raising his voice slightly. "Jim, I've changed my mind. _This _place will drive me insane."

Kirk grinned as they continued walking. "You say that about every strange mission we go on."

"This one's different." McCoy scanned the horizon, expression suspicious. "There's a talking lion out there just _waiting_ to tell us to take the wardrobe back..."

"Highly illogical," Spock immediately dismissed, much to McCoy's apparent chagrin. "As we must return to space, and wardrobes, however useful they may be, cannot fly."

Kirk continued to chuckle under his breath while McCoy took one look at the heavens and sighed. This was going to be a long mission.


	2. Questions and Answers

**2. Questions and Answers.**

Hand raised, Kirk stood before a large and surreal looking wooden door, trying to ignore the voice in the back of his head telling him that the castle could hold more unknown horrors. Strangely enough, the voice had begun to adopt McCoy's exact way of speaking, even down to the tone of voice. Shaking his head slightly, and glancing at the CMO who stood slightly behind him, he knocked.

There was no answer for several minutes.

"Well," McCoy muttered morosely, "at least we know there's no one home who can hurt us."

Kirk frowned at this, took a few steps back and gazed at the spectacle before him once more. "The lights are on."

"Maybe it's to warn off burglars."

Spock almost considered rolling his eyes. Almost. "Do not be ridiculous Doctor."

"It's a perfectly possible explanation," McCoy countered belligerently. "We used to do it all the time on Earth."

"After the events we have witnessed today, I do not consider it likely that we are on Earth, Doctor."

"Besides," Kirk added before McCoy could retort, leaving the other human with a half open mouth and angry finger raised. "In a castle this size there should always be someone around, even if it's only cleaners."

There was a moment of silence. "Perhaps you should attempt again, Captain."

Kirk raised his fist and knocked, the loud noise seeming to echo slightly through the halls beyond. Cradling his now injured fingers, the golden haired man nodded in satisfaction. "I think we can safely say they heard that."

McCoy sighed and grabbed gently at the hand, examining it with a light surgeon's touch and ignoring Kirk's startled protests. "And I can safely say that you've broken your hand, Jim." He let it go and lifted his eyes to meet his friend's startled expression. "Congratulations."

Before anyone could reply, the door began to creak open mysteriously, seemingly of its own accord. The three officers stood with bated breath, neither daring nor wishing to know what lurked on the other side. It was rather anticlimactic, therefore, when the door swung fully open and revealed an eccentrically dressed old man, silver beard hanging in long curls, standing next to a tall, scowling man dressed in black.

Kirk gave Spock a brief look before stepping in, hearing McCoy curse to a halt behind them. He turned to give the cantankerous surgeon a reassuring look, before returning his attention to the men before him, the older of whom had by now stepped forward, hands lifted slightly.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," He said sagely, before dropping his arms to his sides with a faintly mysterious air.

Clearing his throat, Kirk felt like he was being interrogated beneath the intense, black glare of the man who had yet to move or utter a word. "I'm James T Kirk, this is Spock" he gestured to his Vulcan officer, who was currently locked in an apparent staring contest with the man in black, "and this is Doctor McCoy."

The old man exchanged a brief look with the man in black, something flashing through his eyes before disappearing, the briefest and smallest of nods given. Hooked nose and dark eyes resumed staring at Spock, who stiffened.

Spectacled eyes regarded them with interest. "How did you come to be in the Forbidden Forest?"

"We're...not sure," Kirk replied warily, knowing how strange and suspicious that sounded. "We were on our ship on a routine mission, smoke appeared, and we found ourselves here."

"I see. Where is this ship docked?"

_Here comes the difficult part_, Kirk thought wryly. He had given this explanation countless times when necessary, but it never became any easier. "It's a space ship."

The eyes widened almost imperceptibly. "Then you have travelled a long way."

"You...could say that, yes."

Spock drew himself up straighter and seemed to grimace slightly, his eyes still locked upon the other man's. A small bead of sweat appeared on his brow, and McCoy frowned in concern, glancing between the two men.

"I have always been fascinated by Muggle technology," the older man suddenly murmured, drawing their attention back to him.

"Muggle?" McCoy repeated, finally finding his voice.

"Ah..." All eyes snapped to the man in black, who had suddenly jerked his head slightly and groaned, his eyes narrowing.

"Is something wrong, Severus?"

The dark head shook gently, the eyes never moving. It was as though he were carved in stone. "No," he snapped shortly.

The old man returned his gaze to Kirk and McCoy once more, eyes slightly amused. "You were describing your space ship?"

Kirk blinked, eyes darting to Spock briefly in concern. He shook his head, "you were about to explain what Muggle meant," he countered.

"Ah yes, of course," came the polite reply. "I will explain it later, but first I need to make sure that you are who you say you are."

Kirk exchanged a brief look with McCoy, silently asking for his opinion. There was an almost imperceptible nod. "We belong to the United Federation of Planets. Our job is to explore new planets, to find new life and keep peace with them."

"I see..."

A sudden gasp sounded from behind the old man as his subordinate's head jerked backwards fractionally. "Stop..." the man muttered, oblivious to the conversation around him.

"You explore planets," the silver bearded man announced jovially, once more interrupting their thoughts. "I did not think that Muggle technology had advanced that far."

"You keep saying that word," McCoy all but verbally pounced on the man. "What does it mean?"

There was a small shrug. "Nothing can be known all at once."

"Stop..." slightly louder this time as the man all but jumped. "What..." Spock's eyes narrowed in reply.

The silver haired man opened his mouth to speak once more but McCoy was too quick for him. "This has gone on long enough. What's he doing to him?"

"I'm not sure," the man replied mildly. "It depends on who is doing what to whom."

"Are you trying to be funny?" McCoy fumed, stepping closer to the group.

No reply came however, as he turned backwards and addressed the man in black. "It's all right Severus. I think you can stop now."

Before anyone could question this statement further, both Spock and the stranger seemed to stumble forwards slightly, eye contact broken. "I could not enter his mind, Headmaster. He has considerable defences."

The man who had now been identified as the headmaster turned considering eyes to Spock, who was busy fending off McCoy's concerned questions. "It seems that all is not as it appears."

"It never is," Kirk countered.

"We may have to take their word for it, Severus."

Dark eyes widened and Severus took a step forwards. "Considering the current threat of the Dark Lord's forces I do not think that that is appropriate."

"We have little choice."

Severus Snape drew himself up, gaze boring into the eyes of the older man. "I advise against it. If we discover that they are spies..."

"We'll prove our loyalty to you," Kirk said before he could stop himself.

Snape's lip curled. "You seem overly enthusiastic for an innocent traveller."

"You just said that you can't trust us unless you know who we are." He considered for a moment. "And yours is the only shelter around. We need your help."

"It appears that your worries have been solved, Severus."

Kirk, ignoring this last remark, turned to face Spock with his most hopeful smile. "Are you willing to mind meld with him?" He indicated Snape with his head.

Spock's face was even more unreadable than ever. "It appears that I have little choice." He walked sedately over to the dark haired man, rubbing his hands together as was his habit before a meld. "It will be necessary for me to place my hands on your meld points." At Snape's blank look, he explained briefly, "They are positioned across the forehead and cheek bones. Is that permissible?"

"Yes."

Spock's fingers gradually came to rest upon the face of the man before him, and his eyes slid shut in concentration as he established contact. Snape appeared to be used to mental contact, for he barely reacted aside from a slight movement of the head.

"My mind to your mind."

"My thoughts to your thoughts," they murmured simultaneously, their voices mingling to create a deep baritone. Gradually their breathing evened out until they matched, their chests moving in synchronization as Spock shifted slightly on the spot, lips moving soundlessly as he transmitted things across the vastness of their mingled minds.

After a few minutes, they both blinked and separated as though emerging from a particularly deep dream, their expressions slightly foggy.

Snape turned to his headmaster. "They tell the truth." His forehead creased slightly, his eyebrows almost joining together. "He...is not an ordinary Muggle."

"Oh?" There was amusement at the look on Snape's face. "How so?"

"He was raised in an area of overly tall elves who called themselves Vulcans."

An indignantly raised eyebrow accompanied this comment but it was surprisingly McCoy who stepped in. "They're not elves..." he glanced at Spock's ears and appeared to reconsider slightly, "although they may appear that way."

"Either way," the headmaster interrupted, "you must not remain outside." He stepped to one side, allowing them entrance beyond the doorway. Once they had shuffled slightly further into the building Snape closed the door, which issued an echoing thud as it impacted with the stone. "If you will follow me I will be quite happy to provide explanations for your questions."

A ghost suddenly emerged from within a solid wall, drifting leisurely past the group and booming a cheery "hello" as he passed before diving into yet another wall.

McCoy gaped. "_Ghosts?_ You have _ghosts_ here?"

The headmaster halted and glanced at the wall thoughtfully before resuming his journey. "Yes. This is a castle after all."

Their trek swiftly ended as they approached yet another large door, which thankfully was slightly more welcoming and homely than the previous one. It too appeared to open without any force, despite its size. Spock spared it a brief raised eyebrow as they entered the room.

Once inside, the two strangers paused to allow the three officers time to absorb their new surroundings, watching in slight amusement as they gawped at the large landscape of the sky above. The sun was beginning to crawl over the horizon, the sky deepening in colour slightly as evening began to set in, casting the room in a heavy lighting and emphasising its great length.

Kirk pointed wordlessly up at the sky, opening and closing his mouth a few times. All the while, he was watched with the amusement of a man used to these reactions. "A glass ceiling?" He finally asked feebly.

"It has been enchanted to appear that way."

"Enchanted?" McCoy snorted. "You expect me to believe in magic now, on top of everything else?"

"Why not?" The headmaster questioned in a reasonable voice. When McCoy had no coherent answer to that, he swept slightly further into the hall, allowing the doors to close behind them. "Please, take a seat."

"There appear to be no..." Spock trailed off as with a flick of his wand the headmaster conjured chairs for everyone. "Fascinating."

"Before we begin," Dumbledore asked cheerfully, "would anyone care for a Lemon Drop?"

"A Lemon Drop?" McCoy squawked. "You're offering _lemon drops_ at a time like this?"

"I thought not," Dumbledore replied mildly. "Now," he continued, lowering himself gracefully into a large armchair. "I believe that it is an appropriate time to introduce ourselves. I am Albus Dumbledore, headmaster of _**Hogwarts**_ School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. This," he indicated his companion who had settled into the chair next to him, "is the Potions Master, Severus Snape. You are currently sitting in the Great Hall, which will soon be filled with students of magic."

"How soon?" McCoy asked, voice quavering at the thought of more people who could perform magic.

"Five days."

"So we have five days to find a way home," Kirk murmured.

"You are quite welcome to stay here for a longer period of time than that. In fact, it may be necessary." He leaned forwards slightly, fixing the visitors with a piercing stare. "You were transported here by magic, and it takes considerable time and effort to find a counter spell."

"Great," McCoy muttered morosely.

"Fortunately," Dumbledore continued cheerfully, "we have numerous professors quite capable of such a task."

"I am curious," Spock broke in. "How is magic used?"

"The mechanics are rather difficult to explain I'm afraid, but simply phrased, you use a wand and recite spells, should you be properly trained. Not everyone has this ability, you see."

"Fascinating."

"Would we be able to perform magic?" Kirk asked before he could stop himself, the entire aura of the castle transporting him momentarily back to childhood games of spell making.

At a prompting glance from Dumbledore, Snape sighed and began to explain. "From the 'mind meld' I saw the possibility to do passive magic only" he drawled. "Their abilities are not sufficiently strong or mastered to do anything more sophisticated."

"Interesting. Logically it could be deduced that everyone from our universe possesses a slight ability, but due to scientific laws this remains undiscovered and unable to be utilised unless in a suitable environment."

"So everyone has the 'magic gene'," McCoy repeated sceptically, "but our universe is not magical enough for us to use it."

"I believe I just said that Doctor."

"Then why can't we do more advanced magic?" Kirk asked. "We have the potential ability. With enough practice, we could-"

"It is not that simple," Snape snapped. "Abilities must be honed from childhood; you cannot simply expect to be a master at something which you have just discovered. Magic requires years of dedication."

"It is unfortunate," Dumbledore added. "But nothing can be done." He leaned forwards once more. "Since you will remain here for an undetermined period of time, there are certain things, or people, from this universe that you should know about." His tone became even more serious, his eyes even more sombre. "If you are ever to leave this castle, you must be cautious at all times. Voldemort," he acknowledged Snape's scowl, "although most prefer to call him "the Dark Lord", "He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named" or other variations, is constantly working to ensure that his future rise to power will be successful. Since the wizarding world is insistent upon denying his existence, his forces are able to move with stealth and may decide to attack this castle when they are strong enough."

"Who is Voldemort?" Spock questioned, either not noticing or ignoring Snape's deepening scowl.

"You must not address the Dark Lord by name," he almost snarled.

Spock inclined his head politely. "It was not my intention to cause offence."

"He is an extremely powerful wizard," Dumbledore continued as though there had been no interruption, "whose aims for world dominance and pureness of the wizarding race have gained much support, especially among the pure bloods."

"Pure bloods?" McCoy repeated. "Are we talking about magic or vampires?"

"Perhaps if you will allow the headmaster to finish-" Snape began ominously, but was cut short by a slight raised hand on the part of Dumbledore.

"The name pure blood is simply used to describe those of pure wizard or witch ancestry," the headmaster explained. "They are currently extremely rare." At their questioning looks he explained further, "many have, over hundreds of years gone by, married into the families of Muggles; those who have no magical ability." He tilted his head to the side slightly and appeared to reconsider that statement. "Although that is not entirely true; some Muggle borns have been known to possess magical ability."

"This Voldemor-" Kirk was cut off by a glare from Snape, "Dark Lord," he hastily amended, "you mentioned he has many followers."

Dumbledore nodded. "Death Eaters. You will see them wearing black robes, masks and hoods, although much of the wizarding population wear black robes and hoods. It is a rather confusing trend... Simply look for white masks."

"Alternatively," Snape added, "they can be identified by the Dark Mark on their arm."

"What does it look like?" Kirk asked.

For a brief moment Dumbledore's eyes appeared to flit to meet those of Snape, although the exchange was almost too quick to be seen. "You will recognise it," the headmaster finally replied. "It is a rather strange tattoo."

"We'll keep our eyes peeled," McCoy promised, not really certain that they would be able to recognise any Death Eaters if they saw them.

"There is one other important piece of information that you should know," Dumbledore added. "You will also hear many references to 'The Boy Who Lived'. He is, to date, the only known person to survive the 'Avada Kedavra' spell, which is designed to kill immediately. His name is Harry Potter," Snape's lip curled in distaste. "Many would consider him our only hope against Voldemort."

"This...Voldemort," Kirk asked, slowly beginning to piece together the information. "Is he powerful enough to bring us here?"

"Why would the Dark Lord want to bring three almost Squibs?" Snape sneered.

"Theoretically he could, yes." Dumbledore conceded, ignoring Snape's comment completely. "Although I do not know of any existing spell which he could use."

"If he discovered one, even accidentally," Kirk continued, "he has the power to do it?"

"Captain, what exactly happened on your ship before you disappeared?" Dumbledore questioned; eyes serious and piercing.

"It was a routine mission..." Slowly Kirk began to describe, in great detail in case he had missed something which was significant in the magical universe, but insignificant in their own, what had happened on the Bridge just a few hours ago.

When he finished, Dumbledore shook his head slightly. "It seems that he has outdone himself."

"You mean that he's on my ship?" Kirk questioned, voice shocked and cold as he realised what this meant. "This _powerful dark wizard_ is on my ship?"

"It would appear so," Snape answered.

"He'll destroy it!" Kirk shouted, springing from his chair and beginning to pace. "I have to find a way to warn Scotty...the Federation could be in danger!"

"Captain, calm yourself," Spock said quietly.

Kirk whirled to face him. "_Voldemort_ is on my ship! I think panic is justified!"

Spock sagely shook his head. "I do not believe that a threat exists, Captain."

"How?"

The Vulcan sighed lightly and gestured for the human to sit down. Once the Captain had reluctantly done so, he began to explain to both McCoy and Kirk, who were barely managing to restrain their anger and panic. "He may possess considerable magical ability in this universe, gentlemen, but our universe is not equipped for him to perform it. He will be of little threat."

"As long as the security team managed to restrain him on time." McCoy muttered darkly.

"Bones, that isn't helping." Kirk snapped.

"I assure you Captain," Snape interrupted. "Your First Officer is correct; he will pose no threat without his abilities."

Kirk sighed. "It's all up to Scotty now..."

oOo

_Meanwhile, on the Enterprise:_

Chief Engineer Scott wiped his brow, uncaring of the dirt that streaked across his face. After many hours of intense labouring, he had finally managed to finish the broken equipment aboard the ship after the last battle, with the help of his ever loyal team of dedicated engineers. He only hoped that it stayed that way.

Dragging himself out from under the latest machine, he sighed in satisfaction, tapping his hand lovingly on the wall next to him. It was a beautiful ship; sleek and capable of almost anything, within reason. Keeping her together was a job worth having.

Whistling to himself, he began to pack up his tools, dismissing the exhausted looking Ensign who had been helping him. A chirping sounded at his shoulder and he turned to the com. "Scott here."

"Mister Scott," Uhura's voice was urgent and worried. "We have a situation up here."

"What kind of situation?" He glanced to the light above the door. It was not glowing red.

"The Captain, Mister Spock and Doctor McCoy have just...disappeared, sir."

"_Disappeared?"_ Scott shouted, clutching the toolbox with painful strength. "How did it happen this time and why aren't we on red alert?"

"I'm not sure sir...smoke appeared and then they were gone. There was no time to put the ship on alert."

Scott sighed heavily, trudging his way as quickly as he could towards the door. "On my way," he called out over his shoulder, letting a nearby Lieutenant turn the com off.

Stepping out of the turbolift and onto the Bridge a few moments later, he blinked in surprise at the pale snakelike figure towering over the consoles of Chekov and Sulu, three black hooded figures surrounding him with hands raised and holding what appeared to be small sticks. For his part, their leader was surveying the Bridge calmly, pointing his own stick at the Security Guards, who merely stood staring, unsure of whether or not the flimsy weapons were any threat.

Stepping forwards with unmistakable authority, Scott was instantly in control of the situation. "Who are ye and what are ye doin' here?"

The pale face before him tilted to one side, eyes cold and considering, the voice when it answered unbelievingly high pitched. "You do not recognise me?"

"Nae," Scott answered, puzzled and worried about the disappeared officers. "Should I?"

The head levelled again and the figure stepped forward, twirling the stick in his hands leisurely. "I should think so. I am Lord Voldemort."

There was several beats of silence. "We do nae recognise that name," Scott explained. He turned to the Security guards. "What do ye think ye'r doin' standin' there like that, unarmed? Set yer phasers on stun!" The red shirts hurriedly jumped to obey.

"That would not be wise," the self proclaimed Lord hissed. He once again clutched the stick in his hands, this time pointed at the guard nearest to him.

"What are ye gonna do, lad?" Scott snapped, staring right into the cold eyes. "Poke them to death?"

There was a short, shrill laugh from next to the Lord. "You do not know what my Lord can do," a woman announced with something terrifyingly akin to pride in her voice. Her eyes narrowed at them. "But you will soon find out."

Voldemort raised a hand as the youngest man in robes moved to attack. "Not yet. They are just Muggles, they don't understand." He licked his lips and smiled slightly. "I would prefer to see fear in their faces as they die, not ignorance."

The man obligingly lowered his arm slightly and relaxed. "As you wish, my Lord."

"Muggles?" Scott repeated uncomprehendingly. "What are ye talkin' about?"

The woman at the Lord's side laughed. The sound was tinged with madness. "So unintelligent, my Lord. They are the best to kill."

"Yes," the pale man agreed slowly, licking his lips ever so slightly. He levelled his gaze at Scott once more. "You, Muggle, I assume that you're in command of this pitifully small army?"

"There's a lot more where that came from," Scott barked, beginning to lose patience. "If ye do nae tell me what yer business is here, I will have ye thrown in the brig and taken to the nearest Star Base. Ye'll be there for a _very_ long time."

At the mention of a Star Base the man's eyes had widened. "A space ship? Even better," he hissed. "In space no one can hear you scream."

"Then I suggest ye remember it for future reference," Scott threatened. At the man's laugh, he continued, voice rising slightly. "If ye do nae return the Cap'n and his two officers, I will nae be held responsible for what I do to ye."

The soft, high laugh continued but the eyes showed no mirth. "You dare to threaten me, Muggle? Do you _know_ what this wand can do to you? I can hex you until you're no longer human," he seemed to smile at memories which no one else could see, "or torture you into insanity." At this revelation Uhura gasped lightly, and the mood around the Bridge darkened considerably. "I have had quite a lot of practice. Is that the fate you want?"

"Magic does nae exist," Scott scoffed.

"Be careful, Meester Scott," Chekov suddenly warned. "In Russia zer ver many tales of magic and of people who interfered."

Voldemort nodded slowly. "You learn fast, Muggle. I cannot say the same for your commander." Slits for eyes were narrowed at him, the red rims standing out against the too pale face.

Scott fought back the feeling of dread which had settled upon him, trying to use logic to remind himself that magic did not exist. _Could _not exist. "There is nae such thing."

All traces of humour had vanished at those words, the cold voice becoming hard and unrelenting as he gave a short signal to his followers, who stepped menacingly forwards. "Then I will make you believe in it. The hard way."

Wands were pointed at various people around the room. Voldemort gazed into Scott's eyes for a few final moments before raising his own weapon. "I smell your fear, Muggle." He hissed, voice carrying despite its low pitch. The eyes widened slightly to emphasis his next point; "It smells good."

"Avada Kedavra!" The shout echoed about the Bridge, all voices speaking simultaneously and forming the call of death.

None came.

Scott smiled in triumph as the strangers eyed their wands with suspicion bordering on outrage, powerless now like fish out of water. Yet Voldemort would not be stopped. He threw his now useless wand to the floor as the nearest Security guard moved to restrain him, struggling with all his strength even as he began to lose.

"My Lord!" The woman threw herself at the guard attacking Voldemort, frenzy in her eyes as she lunged and scraped her way to her leader, who now lay prone on the floor, knocked unconscious by a successful blow by the guard. "You have injured My Lord!" She screamed; face wild and hair flying haphazardly as she scrambled to get to Scott. "You will pay for this!" She bellowed threats and curses continuously, until she too lay unconscious on the floor, beside her master to the end.

Scott turned his gaze to the remaining two. "Are ye goin' tae come quietly?" They nodded. "Good. Take them to the brig. Keep them under full surveillance."

With a brief 'yes sir' a few guards moved to pick up the two limp and unconscious bodies, the remaining levelling their phasers at the two strangers, grabbing them roughly by the arm and shoving them towards the turbolift. There was no further trouble as the door closed behind them and the Bridge was once more left in total silence.

Then came the questions.

"Sir, what are we going to do?" An Ensign asked, panic in her voice as she realised that they were now without a Captain, on a ship with four psychopathic murderers.

"We find the Cap'n, and bring him back." Scott's voice was strong and firm, ringing out across the still room. "Mister Chekov?"

"Aye sir?"

"How exactly did they disappear?"

Chekov's face was white at the memory, but his voice was steady. "The Lord and his men began to appear on the Bridge, sir. The Kyptin began complaining about smoke and then they began to disappear."

"No one else saw the smoke sir, so we weren't sure what was happening." Sulu continued. "Chekov only began taking readings at the science station on Mr Spock's orders, once we realised that they were disappearing."

"If we can find a clue in those readings," Scott thought aloud, "we may be able to retrieve them."

"I weel start on zat right avay, sir," Chekov announced with barely concealed excitement as he moved to the science station, swapping places with the Ensign there.

"Until then, all we can do is wait." Sitting down in a chair that he should not have been occupying, Scott proceeded to do just that. They would get them back, no matter how long it took.


	3. The Need for Requirement

**3. The Need For Requirement.**

"I hope that your questions are sufficiently answered," Dumbledore finished after yet more explanation on the wizarding world, after the three officers had expressed further interest.

"There's just one more thing," McCoy replied, glancing wearily at the Captain's hand. "Do you have any medical facilities?"

The headmaster's jovial expression was instantly replaced by concern. "We have a hospital wing which Madame Pomfrey organises."

"Any Muggle medical equipment?"

"No..." Dumbledore shook his head slightly regretfully. "Perhaps if you were to describe the problem, I could prescribe a solution."

"Ok," McCoy agreed easily.

"Bones," Kirk interrupted, embarrassment beginning to creep into his tone. "It's fine, really."

"Don't be stupid Jim." McCoy scowled at him. "We both know it's not."

"Can't you treat it with what we have?"

"Sure," McCoy retorted sarcastically. "I'll fetch a few twigs and a bandage and we're all set." He rolled his eyes.

"What exactly is the problem?" Dumbledore repeated patiently.

"Our bone head of a Captain managed to break his hand."

"Really?" The headmaster looked inappropriately interested.

"Apparently doors are too much for him to handle, especially when knocking."

Dumbledore chuckled slightly. "If it is a simple matter of a broken hand then you needn't worry. Madam Pomfrey will be able to fix it before you can say '_Mimbulus Mimbletonia_'." He stood up, ignoring their puzzled glances. "If you will follow me..."

His robes billowed behind him majestically as he strode through the castle. The three officers followed warily, undecided whether or not to be apprehensive or passive about what else they would encounter.

It was therefore slightly, but not completely, surprising when a ghost with its head wobbling precariously hovered past and nodded politely to the newcomers, lifting up a hand to keep his head in place. "Hello," he greeted them in a pleasant tone of voice.

"Hello," McCoy murmured back distractedly.

Kirk, realising that McCoy needed shocking back into his usual, irritable self, used his elbows to dig him in the ribs. "They have moving stairs here, Bones. Take a look!"

McCoy spared the staircase a glance, his reaction abysmally poor compared to what the Captain had predicted. "That doesn't surprise me," he replied after only a few moments of speechlessness.

"Your reaction does," Kirk retorted, glancing at the CMO in concern, who regarded him with a faint hint of exasperation.

"Jim, do you _honestly_ think that after the past few hours we've had in this universe I'd have anything left in me to be surprised?"

"So you'll be back to your usual, incredulous self by tomorrow?"

McCoy nodded, grinning at him slightly. "Should be."

Spock regarded the whole conversation with confusion. "Highly illogical," he muttered, returning his gaze to the route they were taking.

McCoy nodded his head in Spock's direction. "But you can trust _him_ to be consistent."

"To act otherwise would be both illogical and inappropriate, Doctor," Spock replied.

After a few more moments which Spock and McCoy productively filled with bickering, they arrived at yet another large room, this time filled with beds and large windows to allow the light in for those patients who would be there for a long stay. A lone woman was bustling around, apparently preparing things for the students' arrival.

"Ah, Poppy!" Dumbledore greeted, moving over to talk to her, his small entourage trailing behind him, with the exception of Severus Snape who had returned to the Dungeons to prepare his teaching schedule for the following weeks. "I see you're busy as usual!"

"Someone has to make sure that these students get cared for, Headmaster," she replied distractedly, clattering around the room. The group followed. "I just hope that everything is ready in time."

"I'm sure it will be," Dumbledore replied with reassuring conviction.

Madame Pomfrey looked up for the first time, to see three unfamiliar faces staring back at her. She glanced between them and Dumbledore. "I didn't know that you were expecting guests."

"I wasn't." Before she could answer that, he ploughed on. "Poppy, do you happen to have enough time to take care of the Captain's hand? I'm afraid that I have rather a lot of work to do before term begins..."

"Of course," Pomfrey assured, turning a kindly glance at Kirk's hand, which McCoy was lifting up for her to scrutinise, since the Captain seemed reluctant to do so himself. "It should only take a few moments."

"Thank you," Dumbledore said sincerely, before turning to fix his gaze upon the rest of them. "Before I go, is there anything else that you need?"

"Affirmative. You have agreed that we may remain here, yet you have not shown us the location of our living quarters."

"Ah, I apologise...things have been rather hectic around here...I believe you can use the Room of Requirement." He began to walk away.

"Where is it located?" Spock asked after him.

"Go out this door," Dumbledore said, pointing directly ahead of him, "turn left once, right twice, go straight for ten feet, left three times..." what followed was a large description of their route, which Kirk and McCoy soon found, to their horror, that they forgot. They could only hope that Spock, with his Vulcan memory, would remember. "...and focus hard on a need. You can't miss it," he finished wryly, smiling. "Unless you do, of course." With that nonsensical statement, he left, leaving two faintly confused humans and one stoic Vulcan in his wake.

"Now, about that hand," Pomfrey said, beckoning Kirk over to a bed. "Do you mind telling me how it happened?"

"How would that hel-"

"Not at all," McCoy butted in, shooting an evil glance at Kirk. "He broke it knocking on a door," he crowed. "A perfectly _innocent and harmless_ door..."

"Thank you very much, Bones," Kirk growled as Pomfrey attempted unsuccessfully to stifle her amusement. "The way you're going I don't think my reputation will last two days."

"What reputation? These people haven't heard of you."

"Spock, back me up here." He shot a pleading glance at the First Officer, whose eyes were twinkling suspiciously.

"Logically, Doctor McCoy's reasoning is correct; no one knows you and as such there is no need to agonise needlessly over a reputation being ruined."

"I knew I could count on you," Kirk groaned as Pomfrey finished examining the break.

"It's simple enough," she announced to the room at large, picking up her wand from the bedside table where she had placed it momentarily. She pointed it at the broken bones. "Brackium Emendo." The bones in his hand moved back into place without a hitch. "There," she concluded, standing up. "You need to rest it as much as possible for a few hours, but after that it should be as good as new."

"Thank you," Kirk said in awe, examining his hand. Madame Pomfrey smiled and then retreated back into the room to finish her work.

McCoy stared at the hand as they walked out into the corridor, mouth hanging open. "Wow."

Kirk glanced at him in amusement. "For a man who claimed he didn't have it in him to react, you're doing pretty well."

McCoy turned wondrous eyes to his Captain, mouth slowly beginning to work properly after the initial shock. "Jim, I _need_ to learn how to do that."

"That would be impossible, Doctor. Even if you could master the spell here, it would be ineffectual upon our return to the Enterprise."

McCoy scowled at the impassive Vulcan. "Leave it to you to ruin a good moment."

"It was not my intention."

"It never is," McCoy growled, "and yet you're talented at it."

Kirk, beginning to get tired of their constant bickering, hastily attempted to change the subject. "Which way do we go?"

"Left," Spock answered automatically.

"Right," Kirk answered, beginning to walk.

Spock raised a mildly surprised eyebrow. "That is not what I said."

McCoy rolled his eyes at him while Kirk smiled. "That's not what he meant!"

"Then I fail to see why he answered using those words."

"It's a form of wordplay, you pointy eared hobgoblin!"

"Wordplay is highly illogical and has little use in our current situation. Furthermore, I do not comprehend why the Captain would attempt to confuse me for his own amusement."

"Forget it," McCoy growled, beginning to stomp away.

"Doctor!"

"What?" McCoy spun around, fixing the Vulcan with a glare.

"You are going the wrong way."

"NOW you tell me!"

Spock sighed ever so slightly. "I informed you moments earlier, however you appear to be either unwilling to accept my advice or suffering from short term memory loss."

"Let's just get to the damn room," McCoy snarled, satisfying himself with stalking angrily in the right direction.

They followed the Headmaster's advice to the letter, and before long came to a crossroads of sorts within the corridors, with three separate routes stretching out ahead, one going down, one going up and one remaining level.

"Now what?" Kirk asked, turning to the Vulcan for guidance.

"I regret that I do not know."

"What?" McCoy had turned to regard the Vulcan incredulously. "You have an eidetic memory, how could you forget?"

"It is not my memory that is at question, Doctor," Spock explained patiently, "but the directions which I was given."

"Why, what did he say?" Kirk asked.

"He merely instructed me to "keep going forwards". He gave no specification as to the level."

"Oh wonderful," McCoy sighed, moving to lean against the nearest wall and allowing himself to slide down it until he sat in an exhausted crouch. "We're lost in a castle full of ghosts."

"We are not lost, Doctor, merely temporarily disoriented."

"We're _lost_," McCoy repeated emphatically, "in a castle full of ghosts, Mister Spock, and no amount of Vulcan word play can change that." He allowed his head to fall back against the wall. "I thought things were going too well..."

"What do you suggest we do?" Kirk asked over the faint groaning of the physician.

"There are three possibilities. One; we could return to the hospital ward and ask for assistance. Two; we can each explore a different route, or three; we can simply estimate."

"I'm not going down one of those ghost infested corridors alone!" McCoy insisted from the floor.

"Very well. We now appear to have two options."

Kirk considered thoughtfully for a moment. "Let's guess."

"Jim," McCoy sighed, heaving himself off the floor, "if we guess, we're going to get lost. If we go back and ask for help..."

"We'll still get lost," Kirk finished.

"Not necessarily."

"You've seen how big this castle is," Kirk reasoned. "Even if we ask for more instructions what are the chances that this will happen again?"

"Do NOT quote the odds," McCoy barked when Spock opened his mouth.

Spock looked slightly put out by this. "I was merely going to agree with the Captain."

"What if those stairs lead to the room?" McCoy asked, desperate now.

"That is highly unlikely. There are still considerable instructions which we must follow."

"Looks like we're guessing," Kirk decided, slapping McCoy briefly on the back in encouragement. "Pick a corridor, Bones, any one."

McCoy scowled. "I can't see that it matters."

"Alright," Kirk chirped. "Let's go down this one." He proceeded to begin climbing stairs.

McCoy huffed up beside him. "You had to pick the most exhausting route, didn't you?"

"You could have picked a relaxing one," Kirk shrugged, grinning. "You should have taken the chance while you had it."

"You're insufferable. How far up do these stairs go anyway?"

"I would estimate," Spock replied, "that we have to climb, at the least, a further hundred meters."

"A hundred meters," McCoy repeated with a calm that he did not really feel. "Fantastic. I can hardly wait."

"It is gratifying to note that your attitude has finally improved, Doctor."

"Remind me to explain sarcasm to you one day, Spock."

"Very well," Spock acquiesced slightly dubiously.

After several more minutes of climbing even Kirk admitted that he was getting tired. "How much further Spock?"

"Approximately ten meters, Captain."

"Will this staircase never end?" McCoy grumbled, almost tripping over an undone shoelace.

"According to the usual laws of physics; yes." Spock stood calm and composed even as Kirk and McCoy struggled for breath.

"Good," McCoy panted, not even bothering to berate the Vulcan for answering an obviously rhetorical question. "I was beginning to think we'd somehow found a staircase of infinite steps." Spock, after considering the facial expression currently worn by the CMO and the tone with which the sentence had been uttered, wisely refrained from commenting.

"Ready?" McCoy nodded back at the Captain. "Then let's keep going!" Kirk began to ascend the steps with new found zeal. Only to turn around when McCoy yelled and began swearing.

"Do not let go, Doctor," Spock stated calmly as he grasped McCoy's hand. The surgeon was currently half immersed in the stair case, having fallen through a trick step, his legs whirling uselessly below him.

"**Let go**? What the hell kind of suicidal nut case do you think I am?" McCoy screeched. "I'm more worried about _you_ letting go!"

"Doctor, I assure you that there is no danger in that. Please attempt to remain calm while I pull you to safety."

"**Calm?** I'm dangling a hundred feet above the ground!"

Spock sighed slightly, already shifting position to better support McCoy. "Doctor, your hands are slipping. I suggest that you endeavour to hold on tightly."

"Well whatever you're going to do, you pointy eared hobgoblin, do it quickly!" McCoy bellowed.

"Doctor, there is no need to be insulting. I am merely attempting to facilitate your ascent to the staircase."

"Well hurry up then!" McCoy roared, jerking in the air frantically as his grip began to loosen.

"Brace yourself Doctor."

With one almighty heave, McCoy was lying on the ground, spluttering as though he had just emerged from freezing water. "That was the slowest and most infuriating rescue I've ever experienced!"

"You are welcome, Doctor," Spock replied dryly, leaving McCoy on the ground and beginning to climb the stairs once more.

Kirk bent over to help his CMO to his feet, supporting him while he remained shaky for a few seconds. "You alright?"

"As good as I can be..." McCoy muttered, glancing at the stairs and sighing. "Let's get this over with."

Fifteen sore and tiring minutes later, the three officers stood at the top of the staircase, staring at yet two more corridors presented before them.

"Spock?" Kirk asked hopefully.

The Vulcan looked nonplussed. "This would appear to be the correct junction."

"Then let's go!"

"Just a moment, Doctor," Spock ordered, verbally bringing McCoy to a halt. "However," he continued his previous line of thought, "I do not recognise these paintings."

"What do you suggest?" Kirk asked, trying not to show the sinking feeling that was gradually settling upon him.

"Asking them for assistance."

McCoy and Kirk stared after the Vulcan as he walked casually over to one of the paintings and began to converse with it, as if this was completely normal.

"I think he's finally lost it, Jim."

"He must have a reason."

"You don't sound very convinced."

"I'm not," Kirk muttered before calling out; "any luck?" When Spock did not answer, Kirk beckoned McCoy to follow. "Come on."

They made their way over to where Spock was standing, eyes widening in slight astonishment as they came face to face with a medieval knight on an elegant looking horse. A _moving_ knight.

"Then you take another right," the portrait was saying, his voice deep and heavily accented with ancient English. "You can't miss it." He paused. "The turning, I mean. I can't say the same about the room."

"Are there any notable figures nearby which we can utilise to locate the room?"

The figure seemed to ponder that for a moment. "I believe that there is a suit of armour nearby. Unless of course he moved."

"Moved?" McCoy repeated blankly.

"Yes. Moved," the portrait emphasised testily. "That's what suits of armour do. What do you expect? Anyway, if there is nothing else I really am late for my hunting outing..."

"There are no additional queries."

"Best of luck to you then!" He called, moving into the portrait next to him. "You'll need it!"

"I..." Kirk cleared his throat. "I...take it that the conversation was useful?"

"Extremely," Spock replied, already beginning to lead them down another corridor. "Professor Dumbledore mentioned that it may be useful to converse with the portraits."

"Are we getting closer?" McCoy asked hopefully.

Spock, to their general relief, nodded. "It would appear that our estimate was successful."

At Kirk's triumphant smile, McCoy rolled his eyes. "Shut up, Jim."

A few beats of silence passed before Kirk spoke again. "I think I'm beginning to like this universe."

McCoy shot him a look. "You're kidding."

"It's unpredictable," Kirk explained to McCoy's apparent disgust. "It makes life interesting."

"Indeed," Spock pitched in. "It has been a most fascinating experience. Further observation should prove interesting."

"Trust me to get stranded with you two," McCoy grumbled. "Your attitudes wouldn't change if we were getting attacked by a dragon."

"It would be a challenge," Kirk grinned.

"And I suppose _you_ would relish the opportunity to observe a new species, Mister Spock?"

"That is correct."

"Then Lord have mercy on me," McCoy groaned.

"Don't worry Bones; we'll be back on the Enterprise soon."

"You can't really believe that."

"He was merely attempting to reassure you, Doctor."

"I can deduce that for myself, thank you." McCoy snapped. "It just isn't very realistic."

"It's the only thing we _can_ believe," Kirk replied, fixing McCoy with his blue eyes. "We have no choice."

The other human seemed to deflate slightly as they turned a corner. "I suppose you're right."

A brush of air wafted past them, over their heads. "What was that?" Kirk demanded.

Spock lifted his eyes to probe the area above them, eyes narrowing. "I am not certain."

"Ghost," McCoy said.

"Bones, I think we'd _know_ if it was-"

"No," McCoy repeated, pointing behind them. "It was a ghost."

A mischievous smirk was focused upon them, phantom teeth gleaming slightly as his lips drew back. "An elf," he sneered, bobbing up and down. "An elf and two Muggles."

"I am not an elf," Spock retorted, his voice slightly sharp.

The ghost snorted and gave a short, unpleasant laugh. "Oh really?" He darted to Spock's side and began poking the tips of Spock's ears with his fingers. "Then what are these?"

"Ears."

The ghost glared at him. "You're new here, aren't you?"

"Affirmative."

"Then maybe I should tell you now, elf; _my_ job," he said slightly menacingly, "is to tell the jokes."

"Then it appears you are being negligent in your duties." McCoy briefly considered stamping on the Vulcan's toe for that comment as the poltergeist drew himself up.

"_And_," the ghost continued, "to wreck havoc. More can be arranged for you," he added, pointing at Spock's chest. "It is no trouble."

"Then what are you waiting for?" Kirk challenged, the exhaustion of the day making him dangerously confident.

This time, McCoy did step in. "Damn it Jim!" He hissed. "Don't _antagonise_ the man!"

The ghost wheeled up higher, cackling. "You want me to make mischief!" He sang again and again. "The Muggles want me to make mi-schief!" He laughed gleefully, beginning to drop round objects that he had been carrying.

"Oh wonderful," McCoy groaned, trying to pull Kirk and Spock out of range.

"This way!" Kirk yelled above the commotion of what appeared to be a mixture of stink bombs and insults. "There's a door!"

He dragged the two fellow officers towards a nearby door, ignoring the childish singing emanating from above. He aimed to ram the door open using his side, and promptly bounced off of it, collapsing on the floor in a stunned heap.

"The door appears to be fake," Spock observed as he helped Kirk up.

"Correction," the ghost cackled, voice rising and falling without melody, "the wall is pretending to be a door, so it could knock you to the floor!" He sang, immediately making it obvious that he had received no musical instruction at all. He continued with dropping sink bombs, weaving in and out of them with ease.

"What," McCoy bellowed, running out of the way of another missile, "is the _point"_, he shivered as the ghost flew around him playfully, "in fake doors?" He finally concluded, picking up an unexploded bomb and hurling it back at the laughing phantom, who dodged it easily. He immediately received a bomb to the face. "Why is this castle trying to kill me?" He finally spluttered to the room at large, dragging his hands through the muck in an attempt to free his eyes.

"I don't know Bones," Kirk chuckled, watching in amusement as his friend practically cursed the rest of the gunge off his face. "But you seem to have worse luck than usual."

"I don't see _you_ getting hit in the face by those..." he gestured wildly at the stinking smoke around them, "_things_." He snapped, glaring at the other human.

"I'm the Captain," Kirk replied, as if that explained everything.

Another cloud of bombs resulted in one landing upon Spock's immaculately groomed head, and another on Kirk's shoes.

"My shoes!" Kirk looked genuinely shocked, staring at his feet in absolute horror.

"Well, now you know how the rest of us feel."

"This isn't funny Bones," Kirk said mournfully. "These were a graduation present from Sam..."

"Spock just got his hair mussed and you don't hear _him_ complaining."

"Complaint is illogical," Spock replied automatically. "It changes nothing." His expression belied his words as he reached up to remove the offending gunge. "Although I do concede that the aroma is...distinctly unique."

"_Peeves!"_ A voice suddenly bellowed. "Stop attacking the guests!"

Peeves' answer was to cackle and swirl around the newcomer, who appeared to be the same almost headless ghost that they had met earlier. "Nicky, Nicky, Nicky!" Peeves chanted, swinging around him again and again. "Always being picky!"

"Peeves," the new ghost repeated angrily, "STOP!"

Peeves pouted and sang for a while longer, but mercifully drifted away, apparently having run out of ammunition, leaving three dirty and bemused figures in his wake.

"I'm sorry about that," the ghost apologised, his eyes exasperated. "He's always creating havoc..."

"It's no problem Mister..." Kirk trailed off, unsure how to address a ghost.

"Headless." He replied. "Nearly Headless Nick, to be exact."

"Mister...Headless," Kirk repeated somewhat dubiously.

"Just call me Nick," the ghost smiled. "Everyone else does."

"Nick," McCoy spoke up, "do you know where the Room of Requirement is?"

"That depends on why you need it."

"We're visitors here," Kirk replied carefully. "Professor Dumbledore mentioned that we could stay there."

"In that case," Nick nodded, indicating the corridor before them. "It's down there...somewhere. You should find it opposite the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy."

"How do we find it?" Kirk questioned.

"It only appears for those who have a great need. It's enchanted," he said by way of explanation. "You simply focus on the reason you need it, but you must do so whilst walking past."

"Thank you," Kirk said sincerely, as the ghost began to drift through a wall.

"No problem!" He called over his shoulder, only his feet visible before they too dissolved.

"So...we just _think_ it into existence?"

"It would appear so, Doctor," Spock replied, already walking further down the corridor.

Feeling slightly foolish, Kirk followed him and paced opposite a suit of armour, reasoning that if they could move, they might telepathically hear his request and perhaps pass it on to the room. Thinking really hard, he assumed that it would not hurt to ask aloud as well. "We...uh...need a place to stay."

He waited for a few moments, ears burning slightly when nothing happened before the suit of armour, with an air of irritation, stepped forwards and pointed to a spot further down the corridor, shaking his head slightly as he resumed his place, staring at Kirk.

"Sorry," the Captain murmured, blushing slightly.

"Captain, I do not believe that it is necessary to voice our need. As…Nick stated earlier, the room should telepathically hear our thoughts and respond to them directly."

"Well," Kirk said, blushing even more. "I thought it couldn't hurt to try."

"Indeed."

They relocated, and Kirk walked up and down the corridor once more, thinking hard about their situation. Nothing happened.

"Spock?"

With a small sigh, the Vulcan began pacing, attempting to use his natural telepathic ability to communicate their desire. Nothing happened.

"Hmm," Kirk hummed thoughtfully. "Maybe it's one of those enchantments that are not obvious."

"How so?" Spock asked.

"Maybe you ask it telepathically to appear but instead of being a door, as you would expect, it gives you a brick which you push, to open a secret compartment."

"I consider that to be highly unlikely," Spock deadpanned.

"It was just a thought."

"You've seen too many spy movies Jim," McCoy snorted. He tapped the wall. "It doesn't even sound hollow."

"Alright," Kirk replied, unfazed. "Maybe it's one of those enchantments where you have to repeat the process three times." Both senior officers immediately turned to McCoy.

"No," the surgeon said emphatically. "I'm _not_ communicating with a wall."

"Bones, we need to get in," he seemed to cast desperately around for another reason when McCoy's expression did not change. "Even _Spock_ did it; it has to be logical."

"It is not."

Kirk gave him a look which had both exasperation and annoyance woven in together. "Help me out here...you could have at least said that it was logical on some level."

"Vulcans do not lie," Spock simply stated.

"In that case, I'm definitely not convinced."

"Doctor, if you are afraid of being seen attempting to telepathically converse with an inanimate object, I would advise you not to worry, as the Captain and I are your only audience."

"And we won't tell anyone," Kirk added sincerely.

"Alright," McCoy muttered, turning around to begin pacing, eyes never leaving the wall. His eyebrows furrowed slightly at the effort with which he was picturing their need.

Slowly, a reassuringly solid and not fake door began to appear, and Kirk slapped McCoy on the shoulder in brief congratulation. "Well done!"

Spock cautiously opened the door and stepped in, stopping in the threshold. "Fascinating," he observed as he looked around.

"You know Spock," McCoy drawled, "you need to broaden your vocabulary a bit."

"My vocabulary is quite extensive thank you Doctor; I merely choose to use that word with more frequency than others."

"Yeah...well, you could vary it. At least a little bit."

"Very well. Highly fascinating," Spock replied, totally deadpan, stepping further into the room to allow the other two officers entrance.

"Very funny," McCoy sniped, turning to close the door behind him and making sure it stayed there.

Three beds lay straight before them; majestic and large, with individual curtains hanging loosely around the frames. Each had a bedside table with a Muggle lamp, the room apparently recognising their inability to do magic.

Beyond that, large windows allowed sunlight to stream in, turning the surroundings a deeper colour as sunset fully set in. Small puffs of clouds were beginning to crawl along the horizon, their blood red colour standing out sharply against the darkened sky.

Through another door a comfy looking sofa sprawled next to a coffee table where a set of pens were perched, next to a set of quills. The room catered to every need; a bathroom even being glimpsed through an open door, although bizarrely there was no bath or shower, only a toilet and sink.

Everything was richly ornamented and designed so that the occupants would feel comfortable; there were even pictures of their home areas hung upon the walls, moving slightly as the scenery changed according to the memory which it had been taken from.

Kirk allowed an amazed puff of air to escape his lips. "They really aren't minimalist here, are they?"

"Compelling though the desire may be, I must advise you not to touch anything," Spock said quietly, his eyes widening slightly as they alighted upon a meditation area.

"He's right, Jim. We're still covered in those stink bombs."

"I forgot," Kirk said sheepishly, moving away from the furniture and examining the bathroom once more. "Are there any more rooms? Maybe they have showers in a different place..."

Spock obligingly opened a previously undiscovered door to investigate. "Affirmative."

"Well what do you know?" Kirk exclaimed in light relief. "We come to a universe of magic and they still have showers."

"Just shut up and clean off Jim," McCoy muttered wearily, carefully sinking onto the nearest bed and making sure that he did not get stink bomb dirt on it.

oOo


	4. Hogsmeade

**4. Hogsmeade.**

"Bones?" A voice echoed quietly through the fog of his dream, distracting him while he was attempting to run away from the giant spider that had just popped up, seemingly materialising out of nowhere.

"Shut up," he mumbled back at it, swatting at the branches which pricked at his face. "I'm trying to escape, damn it! The last thing I need is you distracting me!"

His shoulder began shaking seemingly of its own accord, and he eyed it suspiciously as it refused to stop jerking. The spider crashed louder behind him, but it was getting smaller. Before he could blink in confusion, it had turned into a unicorn.

The unicorn opened its mouth to speak. "Doctor."

"Bones?" His shoulder continued to shake, more frantically this time.

Rolling his eyes in dawning comprehension as he began to hover above the ground, he sighed. Glancing up, he saw that a light was shining brightly upon him, making him blink frantically as he neared it. "What?" He finally muttered groggily, opening his eyes to see that Kirk was still shaking his shoulder, Spock standing beside him. "Damn it Jim, I'm awake!"

"It looked like you were having a nightmare," Kirk explained, concern on his face.

"You don't need to tell me," he groaned in response, pushing himself into a sitting position. "What time is it?"

"0800 ship's time," Spock replied promptly.

"What time is it _here_?" McCoy sighed, swinging his legs out of bed and standing up, noticing as he did so that both Kirk and Spock were dressed once more in their uniform.

"I do not know," the Vulcan replied, arching an eyebrow. "I have been forced to estimate according to the moment of our disappearance from our universe. However, judging by the current state of lighting outside, I would say that the time zones are in accordance."

"It's too early in the morning for this," the surgeon groaned, stumbling towards the shower and picking up his uniform as he went. "I'll be out in a minute," he threw over his shoulder, closing the door behind him with a slight thunk.

"What was that all about?" Kirk asked, staring after McCoy in concern.

"I am at a loss as to what you are referring."

"His nightmare," Kirk explained. "He's even grumpier than normal this morning."

The Vulcan stared thoughtfully at the shower room door. "It seems that you are correct. My only conclusion would be that he dreamed about the events which occurred yesterday."

"That's what I thought," Kirk agreed, voice low and serious. "I wonder how he'll deal with whatever is in store for us today."

"Given the fact that he has had significant experience of this universe in the past few hours, I believe that there should be little need to worry."

"I hope you're right, Spock."

"As do I," Spock murmured as the Doctor re-emerged, looking slightly more chipper.

"Time to get lost again," he announced, ruffling his hair slightly with his towel before placing it in the laundry basket and allowing it to remain largely wet.

"Spock, any idea where the breakfast room might be?" Kirk asked.

"Negative."

"Alright then," the Captain sighed. "Let's start by going back to the Great Hall. It looks more like it can fit hundreds of students. Maybe they normally eat breakfast there."

"If we can find it," McCoy murmured darkly, following the two superior officers out of the room, but pausing before he closed the door. "Wait a minute." Both officers turned back around to regard him curiously. "If we close this, will we be able to get back in?"

"Maybe we can wedge it open." Kirk disappeared back into the room, shuffling sounds issued from within as he searched the place. He popped back out. "All I found was this." He held up a Muggle toaster.

"We could try it."

Kirk stepped out of the room, holding the door carefully and placing the toaster between it and the post. Lifting his hands away from the makeshift contraption warily, he stepped back, making a small triumphant sound.

"You don't need to do that, you know," a voice behind them announced, and they whirled around to see a painting smiling at them in amusement. "Once you've been in there once, it's easier to find it again."

"Are you certain?" Spock queried.

"Definitely," the King in the painting answered. "I've been here for decades. Everyone always finds it again...if they need to."

"Alright," Kirk said, moving the toaster and placing it back in the room. He slowly closed the door behind him, ignoring McCoy's reaction as the door slowly disappeared.

"Perhaps, before we move on, we should determine whether or not we can re-access it," Spock suggested neutrally.

"Good idea," Kirk agreed, and they repeated the process which had proven successful the day before. He peeked inside. "Everything is the same," he assured them, once more closing off the entrance to the room as he stepped out. "As long as we remember how to get here, we're fine."

"See!" The King crowed. "What did I tell you?"

"Indeed," Spock replied dryly.

"Let's go!" Kirk commanded cheerfully, already starting off down the corridor, not waiting for his two fellows to catch up.

"Jim!" McCoy called as he hurried to his friend's side. "Do you even know the way back?"

"Nope."

"I believe I remember the route," Spock announced, moving to the head of the group.

"At least someone does," McCoy muttered.

A considerably shorter amount of time than the previous evening later, they found themselves outside the Great Hall, debating whether or not it was too early to go in. Finally, with a huff of impatience, McCoy pushed the door open, revealing a small table where a few of the professors were in the process of eating breakfast.

Dumbledore immediately rose to greet them. "Good morning! I trust you slept well?"

"We did, thank you," Kirk grinned.

The headmaster inclined his head ever so slightly, a small smile dancing in his eyes and on his lips. "Please take a seat." He indicated some trays. "We have traditional forms of breakfast, and of course some dishes of the wizard variety."

"What's that?" McCoy asked; pointing at a strange looking plate with cauldron shaped cakes innocently staring back at him.

"Cauldron cakes," Dumbledore replied cheerfully.

"Cakes at breakfast?"

"Many people bring many different tastes, Captain."

"I think I'll stick with cereal," McCoy murmured, beginning to burden his bowl with a crunchy looking type of cereal.

"Be careful with that," Dumbledore warned. "It's wizard cereal. It can take you quite unaware when it-"

"What?" McCoy exclaimed through a mouthful, giving his bowl a weird look and stopping his process of chewing. His eyes went wide.

"Begins to pop and jump about," the headmaster finished, smiling slightly.

McCoy swallowed warily. "Thanks for warning me..."

One of the professors uttered a short laugh. "You'll get used to it."

McCoy took another tentative bite. "It tastes good though."

"In my opinion," Snape drawled, "that is its only saving grace." His own cereal looked bland and disappointingly unmoving.

Dumbledore clapped his hand together. "I see that you three are still dressed in uniform. Did the room not provide any additional robes?"

"Not that we know of," Kirk replied. "Should it have?"

"Only if you asked it to," the headmaster replied mildly.

"Oh..." Not knowing what else to say, Kirk simply took a bite of his toast.

"What do you propose we do?" Spock asked.

"They sell ordinary wizard robes in Hogsmeade. If you are to blend in, so to speak, it may be a good idea to buy some."

"We do not possess any form of currency," Spock pointed out reasonably.

"I thought that might be the case, so I took the liberty of withdrawing some money from the bank." He reached within the many folds of his robes and plonked a large bag onto the table. "This should be enough."

Kirk eyed the bag with disbelief. "You didn't have to do that, Professor."

Dumbledore waved a hand dismissively. "Nonsense. A few galleons will not be missed if it's for a worthwhile cause."

McCoy cautiously peeled back the top of the bag. "A _few_? Jim, this is gold!"

Kirk hastily moved forward to inspect the currency for himself. "Is all your money like this?"

"Of course not," Snape replied, lips twisting slightly. "There is a variety. Galleons, which are the highest form of currency, are gold. Sickles are silver. Knuts, the lowest form, are bronze. I believe that Muggles use the same system for their 'Olympics'. It should be easy enough for you to remember."

"I believe we will have no difficulty," Spock replied as McCoy bristled.

"Since I am unfortunately too busy to accompany you myself," Dumbledore continued, "Severus has agreed to take my place." He glanced between them, noticing the tension between McCoy and the Potions Master. "Hopefully there will be no trouble, but he is quite a capable wizard. He will be able to defend you."

"When you are finished," Snape said smoothly, "I will escort you into Hogsmeade."

"Won't we be a bit...conspicuous?" Kirk asked, gesturing to their attire.

"It cannot be avoided," Snape stated simply, "since we are to be going there to search for appropriate robes."

"I'll leave you four to it," Dumbledore smiled, already on his way out the room. "And Severus?" Snape looked up attentively. "Don't insult them too much." With one last chuckle, he exited the room.

Snape scowled after him, before sitting back and impatiently waiting for them to finish. "Take your time..." he murmured under his breath.

Kirk and McCoy exchanged glances. Something told them that they weren't going to like this man. At all. When they had finished eating their first wizard cereal in what would become many, they stood up. Snape picked up the bag of galleons and stowed it in his large robes, beckoning to them to follow.

The sun shone brightly in the sky, a few clouds gathered around it but generally allowing the rays of light to the ground below. Trees around the grounds swayed in the gentle breeze, birds flying from top to top as they fulfilled their daily rituals. The grass was soft under their feet, giving them all a slight spring to their step as they walked to Hogsmeade.

"Do you walk everywhere in these grounds?" McCoy asked, thinking of the weather that the winter would bring.

Snape nodded. "For the most part; yes. However, at the beginning of the school year the students travel by Thestral drawn carriages, due to their luggage."

"Thestral?" Spock repeated with unmistakable curiosity.

"For those who can see them they appear as large, skeletal horses with dragon like wings." His lip curled slightly at their bemused expressions. "However, unless you have had the misfortune to witness death, they will remain invisible."

"I'm not sure if that's good or bad." McCoy replied.

Snape turned to him at that. "Have you witnessed death?"

"Several times. All three of us have, on away missions."

"I see. Away missions are planet side visits?" Snape questioned.

"Yes. Usually not of the friendly variety," Kirk replied. "There have been many needless deaths after beaming down into inhospitable environments."

"One would assume that you have instruments of some kind to relay that type of information before you 'beam down'."

"We do," Spock affirmed. "However, the instruments are reliant upon information which we have already discovered. We are unable to scan certain life forms that are completely new to us."

"And hostile," McCoy added for good measure.

"Then perhaps," Snape suggested after thinking for a few moments. "You should send mechanical probes before you order your men to their untimely deaths. I too have knowledge of Muggle technology," he added at their expressions.

"Apparently our technologies differ," Kirk replied. "That method was used centuries ago."

"It would greatly limit your loss of life."

"We will...consider bringing it back," the Captain finally conceded.

The conversation died down slightly as they continued to trudge through the grass, aside from startled exclamations on the parts of Kirk and McCoy when they caught a glimpse of the castle's resident squid.

"You have a squid?" McCoy asked.

"Of course," Snape replied patiently. "For some reason which I cannot fathom, it likes to have its tentacles tickled."

"Indeed?"

"If you are curious perhaps you could attempt to do so later." Snape replied in slight amusement, which quickly disappeared, as though he did not want anyone to see the slight lifting to the corners of his lips. "We have a tight schedule to keep."

"I may do so," Spock considered, head tilted to one side slightly as he studied the lake, which had become calm once more as the squid fully submerged itself.

"Why, Mister Spock, I didn't know you held a fascination for squid!" Kirk crowed teasingly.

"And who would have guessed that you'd consider tickling one?" McCoy continued.

"I am not considering 'tickling' it, Doctor, merely observing it."

"Which includes tickling it."

"Do not be insulting, Doctor. A Vulcan would never engage in such a ridiculous activity."

"Unless they wanted to clinically note the way it reacted to tickling, right Mister Spock?" McCoy continued mercilessly. When the Vulcan failed to contradict him, the surgeon turned to Kirk triumphantly. "It seems our resident Vulcan is becoming more human."

"It was a matter of time," Kirk replied, grinning at the slightly insulted Vulcan beside him.

"Considering the amount of emotional pollution, it is hardly surprising."

"Emotional pollution?" McCoy sputtered. "Well, aren't you just full of flattery?"

"Vulcans do not engage in flattery, as you should have deduced after our lengthy discussions on the subject."

"No," McCoy replied. "I didn't think you would."

Snape sighed slightly and gained Kirk's attention. "Do they always...bicker in this way?"

"All the time," Kirk replied with fond affection.

"You must have perfected the art of patience," Snape said wryly.

"It does help," Kirk admitted. "Most of the time it's best to just let them argue themselves dry, otherwise it could go on for hours and you'd get dragged in with them."

"Are the rest of your crew this undisciplined?"

That wiped the smile right off of Kirk's face. "They're the most disciplined crew in the Federation."

"If all follow the example set by your two senior officers," Snape drawled, "I suspect that that is not saying much."

"My crew," Kirk growled through clenched teeth, "know when it's appropriate to work or have fun, Spock and McCoy included."

Snape's eyebrow rose. "I have no option but to accept your word." He glanced back at the still arguing pair, where McCoy was now gesturing wildly. "Misguided though it may be."

Inwardly, Kirk seethed but did not reply, knowing that it was idiotic to insult people who were only trying to help him. From what he had heard Dumbledore say earlier, it was safe to say that this was the man's usual character, and that he should not take offense from it. Yet it was difficult to remain so neutral when his entire ship, his friends among them, had just been so calmly and intentionally insulted. He was beginning to understand how Spock felt during an argument with McCoy.

Conversation and, thankfully, argument died down as they neared the village, three pairs of eyes drinking in the sight before them with eager interest.

Large shops lay before them at the bottom of the hill which they were traversing, their windows showing an array of products. Smoke curled lazily towards the sky from the chimneys of the buildings, adding to the overall peaceful atmosphere of the day.

Throngs of people moved skilfully around each other, all of them dressed in billowing black robes and carrying bundles of varying weight. A few congregated to chat in various places, forcing others to dodge around them, occasionally giving a member of the group a friendly wave.

"This," Snape announced, "as I am sure that you have already realised, is Hogsmeade."

"It's beautiful," Kirk murmured.

This earned him a look from the Potions Master. "I suppose it would be, considering that you have seen nothing similar before."

"We've seen alien planets," McCoy confirmed, "but nothing like this."

"Then you should find this to be an interesting experience."

"Where do we go first?" Kirk asked as they entered the throng of people.

"Gladrags Wizardwear. It is not far."

They allowed him to lead them through the crowds, noticing with a familiar feeling of embarrassment that their uniform was gaining them many strange looks and raised eyebrows. One child jerked on the robes of her mother and began whispering in her ear, giggling quietly.

McCoy sighed lightly. "We go through this every time we beam down to a new planet, yet it never gets any easier."

Snape heard them and threw a slightly irritated comment over his shoulder. "If you will be patient, we will be arriving at the shop shortly."

"He's a bundle of laughs," McCoy whispered in Kirk's ear.

"I have a feeling we're not going to like him much," the Captain agreed, taking great care to talk quietly so that the man did not hear them.

A few young teenagers carrying new school books and what appeared to be ingredients called out to Snape from across the street, inquiring about the 'visitors in the weird Muggle clothes'. Snape answered their questions as briefly and vaguely as possible, telling them that he had errands to run and that they would have to wait until school began before they could ask the strangers themselves.

"You will have many questions upon the students' arrival," Snape announced, returning from a particularly curious group. "I have done my best to stave off their queries, but their curiosity is insatiable as always."

"We expected that, Professor," Kirk replied, shrugging slightly. "We're used to answering questions."

"Nevertheless, you will be inundated with them in a few days. You will discover precisely how many students are in attendance at Hogwarts."

"I have no doubt of that," Kirk murmured under his breath.

Before long, they arrived at a shop window with the words "Gladrags Wizardwear" written in bright, garish letters, a portrait of a smiling man dressed in robes walking along the top of the doorframe, a witch posing next to the caption.

Without a word, Snape opened the door and swept inside, not waiting to see if they followed. Exchanging a glance, the three officers stepped into the relative gloom of the shop, blinking for a few seconds as they waited to adapt to the new atmosphere after the brightness and bustle of outside.

"Welcome, my name is Wilfred. How may I help you?" The shop keeper asked helpfully, coming to a smiling stop in front of them.

"I am searching for some plain wizard robes," Snape began without any preamble. "I expect that you have an ample enough supply to provide these three men with sufficient clothing?"

"Of course," the man replied cheerily. "Just the three of them?"

"That is what I said."

"Of course sir," Wilfred's smile wavered only slightly as he reached into a drawer behind a desk to retrieve a measuring tape. "I just need to take your measurements. Who will be first?"

Kirk stepped forwards and allowed the man to measure him. When he had finished, the man disappeared into the back of the shop and shouted out the figures before reappearing before them. "Who's next?"

Spock stepped forwards, eying the back of the shop curiously. "Are the robes manufactured in that room?"

"Of course," Wilfred replied, scribbling down more figures. "It's been done that way for years."

"Fascinating. I had assumed that it would take a considerable amount of time and effort to manufacture such a large quantity of robes."

Wilfred shook his head. "No, it's a really simple procedure once you learn the magic." He looked up, taking in their clothes properly for the first time. "You're not from around here."

"That is correct."

"Are you from the elf region?"

Spock stiffened slightly, his voice becoming slightly colder. "Despite common observance, I am not an elf."

"They all say that," the man said dismissively. "They claim that the name is offensive."

"Is that so?" McCoy asked, glancing at Spock.

"Not to worry though," Wilfred continued. "You're too tall to be described as an elf anyway."

"That is gratifying," Spock said dryly.

Wilfred seemed to consider this for a moment. "Are you half giant?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"You have the ears of an elf," he explained, "but you are much taller than the average height. I wondered if you had giant blood in you."

"Not to my knowledge," Spock replied dead pan. The other two officers suddenly had trouble hiding their amusement.

"Oh," the man replied, getting to his feet and calling the numbers out to the back of the shop. He came back with a bundle of robes. "These are for you," he explained, handing them to Kirk.

"That was quick," Kirk exclaimed in surprise as he took them from the man's grasp. "Thank you."

There was a shrug in reply as McCoy stepped up to be measured. "As I said; it's a simple procedure." There was a moment of silence before he spoke again. "So where are you from?"

"We would rather not discuss it," Spock answered for them, saving them from many possible difficult explanations.

"I understand completely." Despite his words, his tone made no secret of his disappointment.

A few minutes later, Snape had finished paying for the robes and was about to walk out the door when he paused and reconsidered. "Do you have a spare room?"

"What for?" Wilfred asked distractedly, already counting the galleons again and placing them in a safe.

"They cannot continue to wander around Hogsmeade dressed as they are," Snape said shortly.

"Oh. In that case...it's back there." He pointed to a wooden door just below a staircase.

Taking it in turns, they each went into the room to change their clothes, stuffing their Star Fleet uniform as neatly as possible into the bags that had come with the robes. Once they had all finished, they surveyed each other curiously.

Kirk, whose hair was golden in texture and whose blue eyes usually made him look innocent to those who first looked, now had a slightly menacing air, the robes which billowed when he walked increasing his impression of power.

McCoy looked distinctly uncomfortable, waving his arms experimentally to see how much the robes flapped and frowning. The dark brought out the brown in his eyes, making him look regal and mysterious, although his mouth slightly ruined this image in its current position of a scowl. "These are going to get annoying," he said to the room at large.

"I like them," Kirk countered, drawing himself up slightly, a grin on his face. "Spock, you look like a vampire," he dug McCoy in the ribs. "Look," he instructed, nodding his head in the direction of Spock.

The Vulcan stood as stoic as ever, his pointed eyebrows and upswept eyebrows combined with the cloak giving him an even more alien appearance than before. His dark hair coupled with pale skin, however, gave him the slightly supernatural appearance of the vampire that Kirk was referring to.

McCoy snorted. "He looks more half-elf, half-vampire to me."

"Doctor, I must request that you stop referring to me as an elf."

"I'm sorry," the Doctor drawled sarcastically. "Is the name offensive?"

Kirk chuckled but spared a glance at the shopkeeper who was now serving two new customers and had thankfully not overheard this comment. Snape, who was still standing in the general vicinity of the door, gestured impatiently. "If you are quite finished, I suggest we get a move on. We do not have time to kill."

Their next stop was a bookshop. "Professor Dumbledore considered it useful to provide you with the necessary books on magic, if you are to remain in our universe for an extended period of time. Apparently, it will give you a better chance of surviving an attack. Although," his lip curled, "I do not see how this is possible without the ability to perform magic."

"We'd at least be able to recognise attacks and defend ourselves against them as best we can, I suppose," Kirk reasoned, staring the Potions Master in the eye.

"Perhaps," he conceded. "However, that is dependent upon your observational ability." He moved away to the counter before they could reply, giving the clerk a list of the books that were needed.

"We're _really_ not going to like him," McCoy murmured, glaring at the man's turned back.

"He appears to be quite logical."

"Don't tell me you like him?"

"I have no preference, as you should well know, Doctor. However his logic, although occasionally peculiar, is a refreshing change from excessive emotionalism."

"You like him," McCoy concluded.

"Decide what you will, Doctor," Spock replied with resignation. "As a Vulcan I have no personal opinion or emotional reaction to him."

They quickly halted their conversation as Snape rejoined them, arms laden with books. "You each have an individual copy," he said, dumping several into their respective arms. "Which you must take extreme care of."

"Understood," Spock said. Snape gave him an approving nod before heading back out the door.

Following him, they arrived at their last destination; a shop which sold Potions ingredients and equipment. "Professor Dumbledore believes that it will be necessary for you to be capable of brewing antidotes, should you be poisoned," he explained, sweeping into the strange smelling shop.

"Will you be teaching us?" Kirk asked, following him in.

"Of course. Although you will receive no special treatment as you will have to suffer the company of my fifth year students."

"Won't we be behind?" McCoy questioned. "We have no previous knowledge of potions."

"Then I suggest you learn quickly. It may be necessary for your survival."

"Great," McCoy drawled as Snape purchased the necessary items, including a cauldron for each of them since the school possessed no spares.

"Don't worry about it Bones," Kirk said cheerfully. "You have scientific knowledge; you'll probably be quick at picking it up."

"Medical knowledge doesn't cover magical poison."

"Obviously," Spock replied. "However, you are quite adept already at following precise methods and remembering new information."

"I, on the other hand, am a different story altogether," Kirk stated with amusement.

"Yes...you never follow instructions, Jim."

"I am certain that the Captain can learn." The Vulcan fixed Kirk with a 'do not argue' look.

"I should be able to," Kirk eventually agreed. "With Bones here yelling at me whenever I make a mistake, I don't think I'll have much choice. He did the same at the Academy during our chemistry classes."

"That is true," Spock conceded, glancing at McCoy.

"Much as I am certain that you would relish the opportunity to chat aimlessly for the rest of the day, we have to be getting back to the castle," Snape interrupted, face impassive.

"What about wands?"

"What about them, Captain?"

Kirk regarded Snape in frustration. "Won't we need any?"

"Given your apparent lack of magical ability, I do not think so."

"What if we find that we _can_ perform magic?" McCoy asked.

Snape's cold eyes bore into the surgeon's. "Trust me when I say this, Doctor; that is extremely unlikely." He blinked and gave them all a slow, considering look. "Shall we move on?"

As they exited the shop, Kirk's eyes fell upon an old looking building, one faded sign hanging above its doorway, swaying in the breeze. "What's 'The Leaky Cauldron'?"

"That," Snape explained with great distaste, "is a pub."

"Oh?" McCoy asked, perking up slightly at the thought of something normal in this new universe. "What sort of alcohol do they sell there?"

"A wide variety. Personally I do not understand why one would drink to oblivion," Snape said smoothly. "All that results is making a fool of oneself."

"It's relaxing."

Snape turned to regard McCoy with slight interest. "You will not receive much opportunity to do so at Hogwarts," he said simply. "Unless you wish to drink Butterbeer."

"Butterbeer?" McCoy asked.

"It is what the underage students drink." The Potions Master turned around and began the long hike back up to the castle. "Apparently it is a rather popular trend, although I myself do not understand the appeal."

"God Jim," McCoy muttered under his breath. "That man is worse than Spock."

"That is gratifying," Spock murmured back dryly. "Perhaps now you will direct your anger towards him."

"Not damn likely."

"That is a pity. The opportunity for a respite from your continuous onslaught of sarcasm did seem rather attractive."

They reached the grounds in record time, although with every step Snape's shoulders seemed to tense more at McCoy's unceasing line of complaints or insults towards Spock. Spock, for his part, deflected them with remarkable calm, but it was obvious to anyone who knew him that his patience was wearing dangerously thin.

Kirk, for his part, managed to save his sanity by observing the landmarks around him, noting with an interest born of desperation the exact flight patterns of species of birds which he had never before seen, the colours of flowers which moved at alarming speed, becoming a blur within seconds.

When they finally arrived at the castle entrance, it was with no small measure of relief that Snape turned to face them. "I of course must prepare for the upcoming weeks. If you intend to follow up on the interest that you expressed in the squid earlier, I am certain that Hagrid will be able to oblige."

"Who is Hagrid?" Spock asked before Snape could disappear to the relative safety of his dungeons.

"He is the Games Keeper of Hogwarts. He occupies the house near the Forbidden Forest. You would have passed it yesterday," the Potions Master explained sagely. "Although if I were you I would not allow your Doctor companion within his vicinity."

"Why not?" McCoy fumed, his voice challenging.

"Because," Snape explained with weary impatience, "he is half giant, and judging from your reactions to everything varying from ghosts to local fauna, you are hardly appropriate company for him." Leaving McCoy reeling in the aftermath of that statement, he turned around abruptly. "Now if you will excuse me, I have much work to do."

"Bones," Kirk began in exasperation. "Somehow, you always manage to insult people."

"I didn't do anything! _He_ insulted _me_!"

"That is inconsequential, Doctor."

"Besides," McCoy continued, talking over the Vulcan angrily, "in case you hadn't noticed; he's easy to annoy."

"Exactly." At McCoy's angry look, Kirk held up his hands in a placating gesture. "Bones, all I'm asking is that you try your best not to get into an argument with him. He's one of the only ones who can help us."

"Aye Captain," the surgeon grumbled, but his expression suggested that he would do his best to keep his word.

"Good." He surged through the doors, his subordinates following. "Now, Spock, I believe you wanted to see a certain squid?"

oOo

The Dark Lord would wish to hear this, if he were here.

Those were the thoughts of Xantar Philips as he saw the three strangers dressed in blue and gold. He did his best to keep his expression neutral, walking past them and pretending to stand at a shop window just beyond them.

He kept one ear open to listen to their conversation.

"We go through this every time we beam down to a new planet, yet it never gets any easier," one of them was saying.

Xantar raised his eyebrows. They were not of this world.

Chancing a look behind him, he noted that their clothes each bore the same insignia near the shoulder, a sure sign of an institution of some kind, perhaps of an army. Three new people, clearly unused to the ways of this world, staring around them in confusion and doing nothing to hide the fact.

He snorted contemptuously. They could not even pretend to fit in here.

Yet they could harbour potential power. They were three new arrivals, seen in Hogsmeade, the day after his Lord had gone missing with three of his most trusted servants. His ranks were in turmoil, their attempts to bring him back having failed, even though they tried until the next morning.

He had disappeared in a forest. Perhaps...it was possible. If these three had appeared in the Forbidden Forest, perhaps they were involved. It would explain their apparent cluelessness.

Yet, his mind voice repeated, they could harbour incredible power.

Perhaps they were the ones who were responsible for the disappearance of the Dark Lord. If this was the case, they could be...persuaded to bring him back.

Trying not to draw attention to himself as the three strangers bickered playfully, he walked down the street and ducked behind a shop, heading towards the exit of Hogsmeade.

The ranks of the Dark Lord, if they wanted to bring him back, needed to know.

And he would be rewarded upon the Lord's return.


	5. Tickling, Tentacles and Thestrals

**5. Tickling, Tentacles and Thestrals.**

"I hear tha' you three are wantin' to see th' squid," a large man announced as they entered the Great Hall the next day. "I'd be happy to show yer. I wasn't around yesterday to show yer, so I'm sorry about tha', but I had a few things to take care of before term began, yer see."

Kirk waved a hand dismissively at the apology. "That's really kind of you," he answered graciously, digging a wide eyed McCoy in the ribs inconspicuously as they settled down to breakfast.

"There are some Thestrals I'd like yer to see," he continued enthusiastically.

"Those flying skeletal horses?" McCoy asked warily.

Hagrid nodded. "Tha's righ'! 'Ave you met 'em already?"

"Negative."

"Fantastic! I migh' even be able to show yer how to fly one, if we're lucky."

"That's...that's good," McCoy said faintly.

"Once yeh've finished yer breakfast, I'll take yer out to th' lake. We can work our way up to th' Thestrals," Hagrid continued cheerfully, oblivious to the physician's mounting sense of despair as he ladled more food onto his plate. "Oh...yer don' wan' to eat too much," her warned. "Mos' people tend to vomit on their firs' flight."

"Oh _wonderful_."

"Cheer up Bones! It'll be fun!"

"Maybe for a suicidal maniac."

Hagrid snorted, swallowing a mighty mouthful of food. "There's nothin' to be afraid of. I've had young children fly 'em." He chased the food down with a large gulp of pumpkin juice. Snape regarded him in slight distaste. "An' the squid's pretty harmless too," he added.

"_Pretty_ harmless?"

"He likes ter play around," the giant explained fondly, but noticing too late McCoy's horrified expression. "He never really hurts anyone..."

"Never _really_?" McCoy asked in ever increasing trepidation.

"Well..." Hagrid shifted slightly. "There was one boy who got too close an' was dragged down sev'ral feet..."

"He survived of course," Dumbledore said cheerfully from behind his paper.

"Well _that's _reassuring," McCoy growled.

Snape stood, pushing away his empty bowl. "Much as I would love to remain here and debate the potential threat of giant squid, I must return to my office."

"See you later then, Severus," a female professor chirped.

Inclining his head at her, he turned and exited the Great Hall, the door creaking shut behind him. A woman whom they now recognised as Professor McGonagall sighed. "That man spends too much time holed up in those dungeons..."

"Almos' finished?" Hagrid asked hopefully as McGonagall turned back to her toast.

"Finished and ready to go," Kirk answered cheerfully, bouncing to his feet with an annoying amount of energy.

"As ready as I'll ever be," McCoy murmured as they followed the half giant onto the grounds.

"Don't worry; Spock and I will protect you."

"Very funny, Jim."

"Everyone needs a knight in shining armour," the Captain continued mercilessly. "You're lucky you have two."

"You're insufferable."

"You love me really."

"Just don't push your luck," McCoy joked, laughing lightly when Kirk pouted.

Hagrid strode ahead, his long legs allowing him to walk much faster than the average human. Beginning to say something and noticing that they were not next to him as he had expected, he turned around and beckoned to them in excitement. "Keep up, you three!"

"Easier said than done," Kirk grinned.

They hurried to his side, finding that they had to almost jog to match his long stride. The sun struggled through oppressive clouds, and a fairly strong wind had picked up; throwing itself in their faces and making it difficult to move quickly.

They came to a panting halt, some minutes later, at the edge of a rippling lake; the boundaries stretching into the distance. A giant tentacle crossed the shoreline, a pair of wide eyes surveying them in interest. Waving his arm in greeting, Hagrid hurried to the creature, stroking it without hesitation.

"Come closer," he urged them, grinning in delight. "He won' bite."

As they came closer, they saw that the suckers on the showing tentacle were as large as a football and dotted in slightly irregular rows.

McCoy gaped. "It's...big," he concluded lamely.

"It's _beautiful_," Kirk countered emphatically, joining Hagrid in tickling the tentacles. "Spock, you should try this!"

Hesitating only slightly, the Vulcan stepped forward and gingerly rubbed the limb. "Fascinating. This is a texture which I have not previously experienced."

"Where is he from?" Kirk asked absent-mindedly, continuing with the stroking motion. Ripples floated to the surface as the squid moved appreciatively, a slight gurgle reaching their ears.

"He's always lived here," Hagrid replied. "His family've been here for decades, as far as we know."

"How did you gather that information?" Spock asked curiously.

"Professor Dumbledore asked 'im."

"He..._asked_ him?" McCoy questioned from a few feet away, still eying the squid warily.

"Of course. He can speak a lot o' languages," he explained. "Even mermish."

"Mermish," Kirk repeated, grinning. "There are merpeople here?"

"Yer, bu' they can't talk above water."

"At all?"

"Well...I s'pose they _try_...bu' it's not very successful."

"How so?" Spock asked. The sight of him dispassionately asking questions while tickling a giant squid was almost too much.

"It comes out as a wailin'. It's amazin' to hear Dumbledore speak tha'."

"Indeed," Spock replied, eyebrows raised. "That would be interesting to observe."

"It is," Hagrid agreed easily, a reminiscent look fixed upon his face. "He doesn't do it often though."

"That is unfortunate."

"Bones!" Kirk admonished in the lull in conversation. "Are you going to come closer, or stand over there looking terrified?"

"I'd rather look terrified than get within two meters of those tentacles...I'm staying in my safe spot."

"Are you sure?"

"YES, damn it!"

"Suit yerself," Hagrid shrugged.

"You don't know what you're missing," Kirk added.

"What do yer think?" Hagrid asked hopefully after several beats of silence.

"He is remarkably intelligent."

"How do yer know that?"

"I am a touch telepath. Since I am in physical contact with him, I am able to 'hear' his thoughts to a certain extent."

"That must be pretty weird," Kirk commented.

"It is mildly disorienting." He broke off suddenly as Kirk gave the tentacle a particularly hard, rubbing prod. "However, I can say with some certainty that he enjoyed that, Captain."

"Really? How much?"

Spock's ears gained a faintly green tinge to the tips. "Very much, Captain."

Hagrid's eyes widened. "Well I never..."

"I turned on a squid," Kirk chuckled. He turned to look over his should at the CMO, who was currently sitting cross-legged on the grass. "Did you hear that, Bones?"

McCoy shook his head in amusement. "You have to learn to control yourself, Jim. The poor squid doesn't know what he's getting into." Kirk's answering laugh rang around the grounds.

"Tha's never happened before..."

Spock shook his head in dissent. "You merely did not recognise that particular reaction for what it truly was."

"Tha' changes a lot..."

"You're welcome," Kirk chuckled, repeating the action. The squid wiggled and splashed water happily.

Spock's ears became a deeper green. Kirk decided that he liked that look, and repeated the action again, just to see the Vulcan's expression. It was, he thought, officially adorable.

"Captain, I must request that you cease doing that."

"Why? He likes it."

"You are causing him to reach dangerous levels of excitement," Spock explained in obvious embarrassment. "In such close proximity..."

The squid finished his warning for him; bringing another dripping tentacle out of the water and moving it through the air with dangerous speed, straight towards Spock's head.

McCoy yelled in alarm and Spock, who was still in light mental contact with the creature, only had time to turn around in surprise before he felt himself knocked to the floor.

The tentacle passed harmlessly over Hagrid, who had ducked just in time.

"Are you alright?" Kirk asked, pulling himself up off the stunned Vulcan, from where they had both fallen as Kirk had lunged himself at his friend.

"Affirmative." He accepted Kirk's offered hand and clambered to his feet. "Thank you."

"Don't mention it," the human replied, drawing his friend out of range of the squid, who was reluctantly beginning to submerge in disappointment at the abrupt termination of the tickling session.

"Good God Jim!" McCoy bellowed; having jumped to his feet when he saw what was happening. "Next time you insist upon doing that to a squid, at least make sure no one else is nearby!"

"It didn't get him Bones," Kirk protested, although he had the good grace to look slightly ashamed of himself.

"But it could have!"

"Gentlemen," Spock interrupted. "Dwelling on what could have been will do nothing to change the situation."

"Are yer alrigh'?" Hagrid asked urgently, jogging over to them.

"Perfectly."

"Do yer still wan' to see th' Thestrals?"

"Of course," Spock replied on behalf of the group, not wanting to pass up a scientific opportunity.

"Is that really a good idea?" McCoy suddenly demanded, eying Kirk with mistrust.

"I'll behave myself this time."

"You damn well better," the surgeon growled. "I won't be able to help you if you pulverise yourself by falling off a flying Thestral!"

"I won't fall off."

"Th' Thestrals are careful," Hagrid interjected. "He'll be in good hands."

McCoy sighed in defeat. "I know I'm going to regret this," he said, walking in the direction of the looming Forest.

Kirk jogged up to him and clapped him on the shoulder. "You won't regret this, Bones. We'll be fine." McCoy snorted.

In the company of Hagrid and without the added threat of giant creatures chasing them with the intent of eating them, the journey into the Forbidden Forest was almost enjoyable. They still had to step over fallen branches and slide carefully down mounds of earth, but they were still grateful for the change of scene.

"I'm eternally thankful," McCoy announced to the group in general, "that this time we're not being chased by psychotic spiders."

"Or rock ogres," Kirk added for good measure.

Hagrid faltered in his path, shock registering on his face. "Yer saw a rock ogre?"

"Yeah, we ran into one when we arrived," Kirk expanded, "literally." He surveyed Hagrid carefully. "Do you know him – her – it?"

"There are not many rock ogres in the Forbidden Forest."

"I assure you," Spock said, "we saw one."

"I don' know why a rock ogre would venture this far away from..." he broke off suddenly, squinting into the distance before breaking into a run. After a few moments, he dropped to his knees beside an unmoving shape. They exchanged worried looks before following.

They stumbled upon the enormous carcass of the ogre that had saved their lives some days earlier. The rocks were worn down and seemed to be covered in a moss which proved to be, on closer inspection, some sort of slime or puss. They had noticed none of this on the day of their arrival.

"Oh no," Kirk murmured.

"He's dead," Hagrid announced brokenly, dropping the enormous wrist and sitting back on his hunches. "There's no pulse." He pointed at the slime on his face. "He must 'ave been killed by a disease," he shook his head sadly. "Only eatin' the spiders can cause tha'... poor little things."

The three officers exchanged wary glances.

"I'm sorry," Kirk said softly, placing a comforting hand on Hagrid's large shoulder.

"It's alrigh'," he assured them unconvincingly, getting to his feet.

"Do you wish to return to the castle?" Spock asked, his eyes filled with understanding.

"No...I'll be alrigh'," he repeated. "I jus' hope it doesn't anger the spiders too much. If we could find the body...well, I'll look for it later..." He took one last look at the dead body behind him before turning his back on it and walking away.

"Hagrid," Kirk panted, running up to him. "You don't have to do this."

"Don' worry," he replied gruffly, managing a small smile. "It'll help keep my mind off it."

"If you're sure," McCoy said sceptically, concern plastered across his face.

"I am." His voice was fiercely determined.

They let the matter drop.

"The clearin' is jus' down here," Hagrid announced some time later, raising a large finger and pointing.

Before long, they found themselves to be standing in a large clearing, the sun filtered through the trees, creating a temporary state of almost twilight. There was not a single Thestral in sight.

"Not to worry," Hagrid said, producing several large chunks of raw meat. "They'll come when they smell this."

Sure enough, there was the sound of a snapping branch behind them, and a skeletal winged horse appeared seemingly out of nowhere, its small eyes fixed upon the meat. It approached cautiously and took the meat from Hagrid's grasp, wolfing it down hungrily.

The giant patted its side affectionately. "Can you see her?"

"Definitely," McCoy answered, blinking rapidly.

"Can we touch her?" Kirk asked in awe, taking in the appearance of the Thestral appreciatively.

"Go ahead," Hagrid said, his previously cheerful mood almost fully recaptured; the sadness still hovering beneath the tight smile. "Keep eye contact and move very slowly. I don' want her to over react." Kirk and Spock both started forwards. "One at a time," he added.

Spock gestured for Kirk to go ahead. The Captain walked slowly; his hands spread palms up and maintaining eye contact at all times. He reached the Thestral's side and immediately began stroking her. Hagrid gestured to Spock, who slowly repeated Kirk's movements.

All eyes turned to McCoy, who resolutely stayed where he was.

"Come on Bones," Kirk said softly. "She won't hurt you."

Sighing, McCoy stepped forwards slowly and reached out, touching the bony neck tentatively. "I didn't expect that," he said aloud as he felt an almost unnoticeable layer of fur.

"She beautiful, isn't she?" Hagrid whispered. Everyone nodded.

"Can I ride her?" Kirk asked, sounding for all the world like a little child, eyes never leaving the magnificent creature before him.

"Of course! Here...everyone, stand back," he said.

"How do I get up?"

"Stand on my hand," Hagrid instructed, offering both palms to be used as a step. Once Kirk was mounted, he said; "give her a gentle nudge with yer feet an' hold on tight."

Kirk did so and shouted in surprise as the Thestral suddenly bolted forwards, almost knocking him backwards at the sudden movement. Leaning forwards, he wrapped his hands around her neck as they left the ground, wings spreading majestically and momentarily blotting out the sun for the people below.

Whooping in childish delight, Kirk risked turning backwards to wave and grin at his two companions, who were rapidly becoming small specks surrounded by a green fuzz, Hagrid behind them. The Thestral dipped suddenly as she levelled out their flight path, swerving to the left slightly.

They climbed steadily higher, the wind ruffling the human's already tousled hair and making it almost impossible to hold on. The Hogwarts grounds lay spread before him; small and yet unmistakably large – Hogsmeade lying to one side, a short distance from the majestic castle. He saw the smallest of ripples as the giant squid briefly re-emerged, and he let himself imagine that it was to wave at him.

They passed through a cloud and Kirk yelled in surprise as he was immediately soaked through with cool water, relishing the brief moment of being hidden from the world. His voice was lost in the wind.

The Thestral picked up speed, dipping and wheeling in an impressively agile series of manoeuvres, the unpredictability of which were causing Kirk's fingers to slowly lose their grip.

Adrenaline coursing through his veins, blood pounding in his temples and breath hitching in a brief rush of fear, he tried to tighten his grip, a cry escaping him when his hands broke free and suddenly he was free falling...

All he could hear was his heart beat and the rush of the wind.

Yelling soundlessly, he plummeted closer and closer to the ground, the trees rushing up to meet him, air whooshing past his ears and deafening him. Closing his eyes and throwing his arms and legs out as he had been taught in the Academy, in another life, he attempted in vain to slow himself down.

Déjà Vu, he thought wryly.

He impacted suddenly with something solid and warm. The air flew out of his lungs, leaving him winded and scrabbling furiously for a hand hold as they plummeted further, further...

And suddenly, he was floating.

Opening his eyes warily, he saw to his relief that he was once more clutching the neck of the Thestral, their descent controlled. When they landed, without a hitch on the ground, he stumbled off the animal and felt his jelly knees impact hard with earth.

Gasping for breath that he did not know he had been holding, he felt the sound rush back.

"...od damn it!" McCoy was screeching when the ringing in his ears finally stopped, feeling his pulse. "Of all the damn crazy stunts to do! What the hell were you thinking Jim?" He turned to stare at the Captain frantically when he received no answer. "Jim? Damn it Jim, can you hear me?"

"I hear you," he gasped, suddenly aware of Hagrid and Spock hovering over him, equally concerned. "I'm fine, really."

"I'll be the judge of that," McCoy snapped, still clutching his wrist, as though he were scared to let go. "You're shivering," he said accusingly. "Jim, why, in the name of all things holy, are you soaking wet?"

"We went through a cloud," he explained, pushing himself to his feet and ignoring the CMO's protests.

"Doctor, what is his condition?"

"Well...his pulse is elevated, but that's to be expected and he's cold...but other than that, he's fine," McCoy said. "Damn it, Jim! I _told_ you not to pulverise yourself!"

"And I didn't." He lifted a hand to interrupt him. "Look, Bones, it wasn't exactly my choice."

"What do you mean?"

"It was even windier up there," he expanded, pointing briefly at the sky, "and she was moving erratically. I lost my grip." He flexed his cold numbed fingers, relieved to feel warmth beginning to return. "Anyway, she would never have let me fall."

"It sure as hell didn't look that way from where I was standing," McCoy spat, fuming.

"Hagrid said they were responsible," Kirk shrugged. "I trusted her."

"Tha's righ'," Hagrid jumped in. "They're gentle creatures."

McCoy ignored him completely. "So I suppose you're going to try and tell me that you didn't feel _any_ fear while you were plunging to what could have been your death?"

"A little," Kirk admitted. McCoy snorted.

"I recommend that we return to the castle as swiftly as possible," Spock said, staring at Kirk in concern.

The Captain suddenly realised that he was still shivering in the cool breeze. "Good idea, Mister Spock."

As they navigated through the forest once more, McCoy continued ranting, sounding ridiculously like a parent. "You are _never_ riding one of those again! I'll make sure of that, even if it kills me!"

Wearily, Kirk blocked out the rest of McCoy's tirade, concentrating instead upon the comforting warmth by his side which was emanating from Spock. He tried inconspicuously to shift closer to the feverishly warm Vulcan, so that they were almost touching. Spock appeared not to notice and if he did, he did not show it. Kirk felt a rush of gratefulness and affection towards him.

"...not even listening to me, are you?" McCoy demanded after they left the relative shelter of the trees, stopping himself mid word-flow.

"Sorry," he shivered, crossing his arms in an attempt to brace himself against the cold breeze.

McCoy immediately softened, placing a caring and warm hand on Kirk's muscled bicep. "It's alright Jim. You just gave me a scare...I thought you were going to..." he didn't finish.

"I know Bones," Kirk replied, the scene replaying within his mind. "For a moment, so did I."

oOo

"That is outrageous," Snape spat, glaring at Dumbledore. "You cannot expect me to teach them without being able to punish them if they misbehave!"

"Misbehave?" McGonagall repeated. "They're not children, Severus."

"They will be setting an example to the class," Snape countered. "The students are unruly enough without further encouragement."

"I hardly think," McGonagall said, voice becoming steely, "that they would act inappropriately."

"You have not had the misfortune of conversing with them."

"What makes you think they need punishing, Severus?" Dumbledore asked mildly.

"The Doctor," Snape snarled, "will do anything to provoke an argument. I do not wish to see that happen in my class."

"I'm sure that you can handle him, Severus," the headmaster replied neutrally.

Snape sighed in frustration. "And the other professors?" He asked finally.

Dumbledore considered. "I hire only capable professors."

Snape leaned forwards. "Professor Umbridge," he spat, lip curling, "does not fit that description."

"I had no choice, as you well know."

"Are you using her as an excuse to give yourself the authority to punish guests?" McGonagall asked, eyebrows raised. Snape scowled. "I thought so. Really, Severus..."

"My decision is final," Dumbledore emphasised, leaning forwards in his chair and surveying them through half moon spectacles.

"Hem, hem!" Everyone aside from Dumbledore stiffened noticeably as they turned to stare at Umbridge, who was walking calmly through the door. "Trouble, headmaster?"

"That is none of your concern," Snape said smoothly.

"I do not need to remind you all, in particular you, Professor Snape, that as Professor for Defence Against the Dark Arts, I have a right to be privy to staff meetings." Snape's face grew colder at the reminder that he had once again failed to achieve his aim in becoming Defence teacher.

"Of course, Dolores," Dumbledore finally conceded; the full image of politeness. "Please, take a seat."

"Thank you, headmaster." She gazed pompously around the room, smiling sweetly. "Now what seems to be the problem?"

"We were discussing punishment during class," Snape said coldly, doing nothing to hide the animosity in his gaze.

Umbridge tittered. "I would have thought that such rules were decided upon the foundation of this school."

"Obviously," Snape sneered. "We are discussing a different matter."

"What would that be, hmm?" She asked once more.

"Professor Snape," McGonagall finally explained, "wishes to have the power to punish the three visitors in case, and I quote, they 'misbehave'."

"You did not tell me we had visitors?" She turned to face Dumbledore.

"I have had much to do," he said simply. "I was planning on telling you eventually."

"Well, now that I know," she simpered, "I think it's about time that I offered my opinion, don't you?"

"Must you?" Snape muttered, but Umbridge either had not heard him or had decided to ignore him.

"I think that Professor Snape's opinion is quite justified."

"It has been denied," Dumbledore said simply. "The laws of the school do not apply to guests."

"Laws can be changed," she suggested sweetly.

"Not while I am headmaster."

She tittered once again. "So silly of me, but it _sounds_ as if you think you still have full authority." She produced a signed parchment and pushed it over to him.

"This is unexpected."

"Let me see," Snape demanded roughly, drawing the paper towards him. His eyes widened in surprise. "That is unacceptable."

"Are you questioning my authority, Professor Snape?" Umbridge simpered. He sullenly put the parchment back on the table. "I didn't think so. You have seen the Minister's signature. Now, perhaps you will reconsider your decision?" She demanded of Dumbledore.

"It seems I have little choice."

"Good. So it is agreed then; professors are to have the power to punish these 'visitors' in accordance with the school rules. It is only fair," she continued, "they are to engage in lessons, I presume, and as such should be subjected to our rules. We do not want the students to feel resentment, do we?" With one last sickly sweet smile, she waddled out the room.

McGonagall sighed. "Smile, Severus," she snapped roughly. "You just gained an ally who agrees with you. You should be happy," she stalked out the room.

"Professor," Snape said urgently, leaning across the table. "We cannot allow the Ministry to interfere with Hogwarts to this extent-"

"We have no choice, Severus," Dumbledore said gravely, leaning back in his chair. "It is done."


	6. Sorting

**6. Sorting.**

They had braced themselves in the days since their arrival for the beginning of term. They had read through a few chapters of the books the day before, attempting desperately to at least gain some magical knowledge before they had to participate in class. They had been warned by Snape, who had apparently relished the situation to some extent, that they did not have any 'advantage' over the current students, but would be subjected to the same rules as them. They had agreed to this, knowing that it would be unreasonable to do otherwise even when they felt severe doubt about their ability to perform in this new environment.

After several hours of reading, the two humans had largely given up, preferring to discuss the events of the past few days and the problems which could await them when they returned to the ship. Spock, however, completely ignored them in a valiant attempt to memorise the information, although he found it extremely difficult when it contradicted everything which he previously knew. On top of that, they had no points of reference, and no personal experience or observation to attach to the information provided to them.

Yet they still learnt something; small things, but it was a start.

It was with some trepidation that they made their way to the Great Hall and waited with the first years, as Dumbledore had earlier instructed them to do. They were to walk in and, since they would be remaining at Hogwarts for an indefinite period of time, be sorted into houses just as the students were.

After much staring and whispering from the first years, the giant doors swung open, revealing a large room filled to the brim with older students, all of whom were levelling smiling expressions on the first years, who suddenly seemed to shrink into themselves. The professors sat on a slightly raised dais, Dumbledore in the middle, face radiating enthusiasm for the coming year.

A stool was placed at the front of the hall, adjacent to the two middle house tables and a heavily patched and ripped hat was placed on top of it. The three officers exchanged wary glances as they were brought to a halt and the doors closed behind them.

To their intense shock, the rip facing the congregation opened slowly as though yawning for a fleeting moment, and then launched into song:

_In times of old when I was new_

_And Hogwarts barely started_

_The founders of our noble school_

_Thought never to be parted_

"Fascinating," Spock murmured under the cover of the hat's voice, which was ringing out through the hall as the students listened attentively.

"The hat's alive!" McCoy choked out, squinting at it.

"It is not alive, Doctor," Spock corrected, "merely enchanted."

"I still don't believe it," the physician continued. Their conversation had drawn the attention of a meek looking first year, who was staring at Spock's ears with wide eyes. "Someone pinch me; I must be dreaming." Kirk obliged and McCoy jumped slightly, swatting at his friend's hand.

"That is a highly illogical practice."

"I didn't _want_ him to pinch me," McCoy clarified quietly, glaring at Kirk.

The Captain shrugged. "You did ask."

"Indeed," Spock added, still staring at the hat. "I fail to see why you would refuse the offer of something which you yourself previously demanded."

"It's a Terran tradition," Kirk grinned.

"Perhaps that is why it has no logical use that I can discern."

_...So how could it have gone so wrong?_

_How could such friendships fail?_

_Why, I was there and so can tell_

_The whole sad, sorry tale..._

"What is it _talking_ about?" McCoy asked in bewilderment.

Kirk shrugged. "Something about something gone wrong."

"That was a lot of help, Jim, thank you," McCoy said acerbically.

There was the faintest exhalation of air from the Vulcan next to them. "If you had been listening, gentlemen, you would know that the song details the beginning of Hogwarts School, the original aim to pass on their knowledge...which was unfortunately marred by worsening relations between the founders."

"How do you do that?" Kirk asked.

"Clarify."

"Remember speeches at the same time as having a conversation."

Spock removed his eyes from the show before him and glanced at Kirk in amusement. "I am able to, as you humans would say, 'multi task'." He turned away from them once more.

"You do it very well."

"Thank you, Captain. However, if you wish to understand the song, I suggest that you pay attention."

Mollified, they returned their eyes to the hat, whose voice still rose in melodious pitch, ducking occasionally between notes.

_..These differences caused little strife_

_When first they came to light,_

_For each of the four founders had_

_A house in which they might_

_Take only those they wanted, so..._

"I wonder how they managed to make the hat talk."

"I estimate, Captain, that it is a simple enough enchantment for those skilled in the magical arts."

"You make it sound so scientific," McCoy snorted.

An eyebrow twitched. "Given the nature of this universe, I would venture to say that it is in fact a science in its own right."

"You admit that?" McCoy asked.

"To deny the facts would be illogical, Doctor."

_...And only those of sharpest mind_

_Were taught by Ravenclaw..._

"Well Spock," Kirk announced in a whisper, digging the mildly irritated Vulcan in the ribs. "We know which house you're going to."

"That is not certain."

"Stop being so modest," Kirk teased.

"I was not. I was merely reminding you that there are several options, and the choice apparently rests with the 'Sorting Hat', as Professor Dumbledore named it. The outcome could be quite unexpected."

Kirk snorted. "You're going to Ravenclaw. No arguments about it."

"If you insist," Spock said dryly. "However you have little say in the matter."

_...So Hogwarts worked in harmony_

_For several happy years,_

_But then discord crept among us_

_Feeding on our faults and fears._

_The houses that, like pillars four, _

_Had once held up our school..._

"This hat sure is good at inventive language," McCoy murmured. "For a garment."

"That is to be expected, as it was no doubt enchanted by wizards of high intellect."

"I _know_ that, Mister Spock. I was just observing."

"Maybe," Kirk butted in, "you could observe a bit quieter. I actually want to hear this bit."

_...What with duelling and with fighting_

_And the clash of friend on friend_

_And at last there came a morning_

_When old Slytherin departed_

_And though the fighting then died out_

_He left us quite downhearted._

_And never since the founders four_

_Were whittled down to three_

_Have the houses been united_

_As they once were meant to be._

"Fascinating," Spock intoned, for the thousandth time. "It would appear that, although the house of Slytherin was the cause of the unfortunate discord, its founder was also capable of keeping them united, so to speak. It is highly illogical that one could hold such a paradoxical role."

"That's us humans for you," McCoy commented dryly.

"As I have often observed, Doctor."

_...Though condemned I am to split you_

_Still I worry that it's wrong_

_Though I must fulfil my duty_

_And must quarter every year_

_Still I wonder whether Sorting_

_May not bring the end I fear._

_Oh, know the perils, read the signs,_

_The warning history shows,_

_For our Hogwarts is in danger_

_From external, deadly foes_

_And we must united inside her_

_Or we'll crumble from within_

_I have told you, I have warned you..._

_Let the Sorting now begin. _

As the hat abruptly became motionless, a steady wave of applause erupted from the table, punctuated by brief murmured discussions under cover of the noise. The first years, by contrast, appeared at a loss as to what to do.

Professor McGonagall, whom they had met briefly at the breakfast table on previous occasions, quietly glared the students into submission before lifting an ominously long parchment into the air and tracing her finger along the top. "Abercrombie, Euan."

Something prodded at them from behind and they stepped apart smartly to allow the young boy access to the front of the hall, the whole school watching him as he staggered up to the stool. Shaking hands lifted the hat and placed it on a small head, the whole thing sagging comically in front of his eyes, held up only by the large ears which protruded from the sides.

The rip near the brim opened and bellowed across the hall, "Gryffindor!"

There was much applause as the young student weaved his way to the empty side of one of the long tables, sitting down gratefully and blushing at all the attention that he was currently receiving. The hall remained completely silent as names were called out methodically, each child joining their respective houses amidst a sudden explosion of applause which was once again replaced by oppressive silence as the next person was awaited.

"Kirk, James."

Kirk gave his two fellow officers a slightly nervous grin, but his stride was confident and assured as he approached the chair, despite the stares and whispers that followed his progress. When he was settled, the hat shifted on his head as it had done for many others.

"Gryffindor!"

"That seems about right," McCoy murmured as Kirk swooped over to the appropriate table, to many looks of curious disbelief.

There was a sizeable interval accompanied by a tense atmosphere as each waited their name to be called.

"McCoy, Leonard."

"Wish me luck," McCoy muttered, though he knew there was no real point in asking for such a thing.

"That would be illogical. Luck does not exist."

"I thought not," he sighed to himself as he began the long and humiliating walk to the stool and perched himself upon it.

The hat shifted and made a small grunting sound. He could not help his eyes from trying to see through his eyelids and hair, wondering what might be happening.

"This is a difficult choice," it finally announced, before dropping its voice and talking to McCoy only, so that they would not be overheard. "You possess the potential to be a Gryffindor when others are threatened, but you are mostly content to avoid danger whenever possible. Your loyalty knows no bounds, you would be a great Hufflepuff." He silently agreed with it. "The properties of the two houses are merged deep within you; only you can choose the outcome. Do you choose courage, or caution; strength, or loyalty?"

He considered for a brief moment, intellectually knowing that for the most part he would be inclined to choose caution, yet Kirk's hopefully smiling face was too much. He knew that his friend would need some company, and so would he, being as they were in a completely alien universe. He would be uncomfortable surrounded by even _more_ daredevils, from the way the hat described it, but it may be in their best interests.

"I choose courage."

"Gryffindor!"

Kirk's face lit up as McCoy walked swiftly over and plonked himself down by his friend's side, relieved as the attention shifted from him. There were a few remaining students left; Spock looking conspicuous standing among them, his sullenness contrasting the stark fear which still featured in many expressions.

"I wonder if Spock'll be with us."

"I doubt it Bones," the golden haired human shook his head. "He's a genius; he'll be in Ravenclaw."

"We'll find out soon enough," McCoy replied as Spock's full, unpronounceable Vulcan name was called, the accent perfect and causing the Vulcan in question's expression to shift slightly to amazement as he obediently sat on the stool, placing the hat on his head.

"Slytherin!"

Kirk, who had been waiting in nervous anticipation, looked shocked. "I was so sure he'd be in Ravenclaw..."

A boy in spectacles and with a lightning scar on his forehead leaned towards them. "The cunning and ambitious go to Slytherin," he explained. "Some are clever enough to be in Ravenclaw."

Kirk frowned. "I wouldn't exactly call Spock ambitious...he _can_ be cunning though, when he's forced to be," he added, remembering the way that Spock Prime had tricked him into thinking the universe would explode if the two versions of himself were allowed to meet.

A girl next to him shrugged. "The hat senses people's deepest selves. Their true personality. In all the time that I've been a student here, it's rarely made a mistake."

"Looks like he's not all you thought he was, mate," a ginger haired boy intoned with slight sympathy, although he was eying the Slytherin table with disgust. "He's getting on pretty well with Malfoy."

The dark haired boy turned to follow his friend's gaze. "You'd better watch out for him."

"We can defend ourselves against this...Malfoy," Kirk assured them.

The girl gave him a weird look. "He means that you have to watch out for your friend."

"Spock's harmless."

Her eyes continued to pierce the Captain's. "Then why is he in Slytherin?" She allowed the message to sink in before suddenly sitting up slightly straighter. "We've forgotten to introduce ourselves," she reminded her two friends.

"Oh yeah..." they both said vaguely, not really looking enthusiastic about the idea.

"I'm Hermione Granger," she said, thrusting her hand across the table to shake theirs.

"I'm Ron Weasley." The ginger boy nodded briefly in their direction.

"Harry Potter."

McCoy's eyes popped. "_You're_ Harry Potter?" There was a slightly embarrassed silence; as though they received this reaction all the time.

"Yeah," Ron finally said, "who else would he be? Do you know anyone else with that face?"

"Ron!" Hermione admonished.

"What?"

"Don't be so tactless," she hissed.

"It's alright, Hermione," Harry grinned, apparently used to Ron's antics. "So where are you from?"

"Originally?" Kirk clarified. "I'm from Iowa."

"Georgia," McCoy provided when they looked at him.

"Why are you so late coming here?" Ron asked through a mouthful of food which had appeared on the table.

"We're from a different universe."

They stared at Kirk. "That's impossible," Hermione finally said.

Kirk shrugged. "Considering we're here...not really."

"How _did_ you get here?" Harry asked when Hermione failed to respond, her mind apparently working over the possibility of other universes.

"Truthfully? We're not sure."

"There was smoke on the Bridge," McCoy clarified. "This pale man appeared with a couple of guards wearing hoods and capes..." they stiffened and exchanged looks at this. "Then we landed in the Forbidden Forest. We can't reach our ship."

"Voldemort's on your ship?" Harry demanded.

"Harry," Hermione hissed. "Don't call him-"

"I'm not going to call him You-Know-Who," the boy shot back.

"Yes, he's on our ship."

"How powerful is it?" Harry continued.

"It's fully equipped with the newest in weapon technology," Kirk explained proudly. "But he won't be able to use any of it to harm you."

"How do you know?" Ron demanded. "He could be taking it over right now, getting ready to launch an attack."

"We know he isn't," Kirk calmly answered, "because you can't use magic in our universe."

"Of course you can," Ron scoffed. "Only Muggles think you can't."

Kirk shook his head. "There is no magic in our universe. We have the ability to perform magic...low levels of magic," he amended, "if taught properly, according to Professor Snape... but we have never been asked to attend a school like this. We also didn't know about our abilities until we came here."

Hermione at any rate did not look convinced. "It's possible," she said slowly, "that you are late developers."

Kirk shook his head. "Professor Snape knows about our universe and its laws- he looked into Spock's mind. There is no way that magic can be used there."

"Everyone knows Snape can't be trusted," Ron said viciously, glaring at the professor in question who was currently prodding sullenly at the food on his plate. "He's a Death Eater."

"Ron!" Hermione gasped.

"What? They need to know if they're staying here!"

"They're still strangers! You can't just go around telling everyone you meet that you think Snape is a Death Eater!"

"Why not?" Ron challenged. "He is."

"That's not the point."

Harry turned back to them, speaking over the small argument brewing in the background. "How long are you here for?"

"We don't know," McCoy said glumly.

"As long as it takes to find a counter-spell," Kirk added.

Hermione suddenly abandoned the argument, leaving Ron with his mouth hanging open in mid point, a bemused look on his face. "That might be impossible."

"We know," Kirk said morosely.

"What is he anyway?" Ron suddenly asked, munching on a sausage and staring over at Spock curiously, who was currently talking to a laughing Malfoy. "An elf?"

"He's too tall," Hermione pointed out.

"Half elf, half giant?" Ron suggested.

"He's a Vulcan," Kirk interrupted.

"What's that?" Ginger eyebrows furrowed.

Kirk and McCoy exchanged glances, wondering just how to explain that. Finally, Kirk sighed and leaned forward to tell them, since McCoy wasn't about to. "A Vulcan is an..." he searched for the right word before finally giving up, "alien. They live on the planet Vulcan...it's near Earth...was near Earth."

"Was?" Hermione immediately pounced.

"Vulcan was..." Kirk seemed to lose himself briefly in the memory of their friend's pain, still fresh in their minds, "lost."

"'ow cam oo yoose uh panneh?"

"Ron," Hermione groaned in disgust. "Do you have to speak with your mouth full?"

"I'm hungry!" He finally blurted after getting rid of the food in a painful swallow, barely pausing to chew.

"It disappeared in a black hole," Kirk explained.

"Did anyone escape?" Harry asked quietly.

"Enough to start a new colony."

The mood darkened as they stared at the impassive Vulcan seated across the room, who appeared to be listening to one of Malfoy's jokes in absolute confusion. The Slytherins watched, grinning. Before any more could be said on the matter, the rest of the food disappeared from the tables and the headmaster rose gracefully to his feet, calling a halt to the chattering.

"Well, now that you are all digesting another magnificent feast, I beg a few moments of your attention for the usual start-of-term notices. First-years ought to know that the Forest in the grounds is out-of-bounds to students – and a few of our older students ought to know by now, too.

"Mr Filch, the caretaker, has asked me, for what he tells me is the four-hundred-and-sixty-second time, to remind you all that magic is not permitted in corridors between classes, nor are a number of things," he added mildly, "all of which can be checked on the extensive list now fastened to Mr Filch's office door.

"We have had, as well as the arrival of some unexpected students," he nodded his head at the three officers, "two changes in staffing this year. We are very pleased to welcome back Professor Grubbly-Plank, who will be taking Care of Magical Creatures lessons; we are also delighted to introduce Professor Umbridge, our new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher." Snape stiffened and his scowl deepened slightly.

"How long do you think Hagrid will be away?" McCoy asked under his breath. They had been told after the fiasco with the squid that the half giant would not be taking their future lessons.

"I don't know," Kirk murmured back, under cover of the unenthusiastic applause.

"Tryouts for the house Quidditch teams will take place on the..." He trailed off as a stout woman stood up, although it was barely an improvement on her sitting posture. He blinked a few times before composing himself once more and lowering himself back into his seat, giving her his full attention.

"Thank you, Headmaster," the woman simpered in a high pitched girly voice, "for those kind words of welcome." She glanced around the room once before clearing her throat fakely. "Hem, hem."

All of the professors upon the elevated platform looked taken aback; a few even muttering to each other, not caring who saw them. Beside Kirk and McCoy, the three teenagers exchanged smirks.

"Well, it is lovely to be back at Hogwarts, I must say!" Her face convulsed into a smile, sending a few of the first years reeling. "And to see such happy little faces looking up at me!"

McCoy snorted. "That woman thinks she's talking to a kindergarten class..."

"She won't get very far talking to them like that," Kirk agreed, taking in the shocked and slightly insulted faces around them.

"I am very much looking forward to getting to know you all and I'm sure we'll be very good friends!"

McCoy rolled his eyes and tried not to chuckle; his shoulders shaking silently. "Oh Lord...she's deluded for sure."

From further along the table, a few girls giggled at some shared joke, staring at the new professor's clothes.

"Hem, hem." She seemed to brace herself before her voice became computerized and dull, clearly spouting words which had been pre-learnt. "The Ministry of Magic has always considered the education of young witches and wizards to be of vital importance. The rare gifts with which you were born may come to nothing if not nurtured and honed by careful instruction. The ancient skills unique to the wizarding community must be passed down the generations lest we lose them forever. The treasure trove of magical knowledge amassed by our ancestors must be guarded, replenished and polished by those who have been called to the noble profession of teaching."

Here she bowed pompously at the professors, who were staring at her in obviously growing disbelief. "Is she for real?" Someone snorted, quite loudly.

She ignored them and carried on with her droning speech, but it was clear that hardly anyone was listening, aside from a few people wearing prefect badges and Spock; who was staring at her in a mix between slight confusion at the references to the wizard world and dawning comprehension.

"Every headmaster and headmistress of Hogwarts has brought something new to the weighty task of governing this historic school, and this is as it should be, for without progress there will be stagnation and decay. There again, progress for progress's sake must be discouraged, for our tried and tested traditions often require no tinkering. A balance, then, between old and new, between permanence and change, between tradition and innovation..."

McCoy was rolling his eyes in exasperation. "I never liked diplomatic functions, and it's even worse now that it's a _magical_ diplomatic function..."

"No one's even listening," Kirk observed as he watched someone pull out a strange looking magazine, although they appeared to be reading it upside down. "Surely she's noticed?"

"Who knows, Jim. With all that pomp and procedure, I'm surprised she even thinks she's a professor...she's certainly not acting like one."

"I have a feeling," he said absent-mindedly as he watched Spock hang onto her every word, "that we're going to regret not listening to this."

"Why?"

"Spock's listening to her..." the Captain reasoned.

"This is _Spock_ we're talking about, Jim. He'd listen to anything."

"Even so..."

"Well, if we _do_ miss something, at least we can count on him to remember."

"...because some changes will be for the better," Umbridge was continuing, "while others will come, in the fullness of time, to be recognised as errors of judgement. Meanwhile, some habits will be retained, and rightly so, whereas others, outmoded and outworn, must be abandoned. Let us move forward, then, into a new era of openness, effectiveness and accountability, intent on preserving what ought to be preserved, perfecting what needs to be perfected, and pruning wherever we find practices that ought to be prohibited." With one last look around the hall, she sat down, a self satisfied smile plastered across her features at the termination of her speech.

Dumbledore immediately stood up and clapped briefly, only a few students and professors joining in. "Thank you very much, Professor Umbridge, that was most illuminating. Now, as I was saying, Quidditch tryouts will be held..."

"Quidditch?" Kirk asked in interest. "What kind of sport is that?"

"It's kind of hard to explain," Harry finally said. "You could come and watch the tryouts. Maybe, if you like the look of it, you could try and get on the team."

"He wouldn't be allowed to do that," Hermione interjected. "He's not a student."

Kirk shrugged. "It won't hurt to ask."

"Have you ever flown a broom before?"

"Of course they haven't, Ron," Hermione said with patience. "They come from another universe."

Ron seemed determined to save himself in face of that evidence. "Oh yeah...but they could have had...I dunno, mechanical brooms or something."

"Don't be ridiculous," she scoffed. "Muggles don't have things like that."

"They might in the future though," the ginger haired boy pointed out.

"Actually," Kirk said, "we don't. But we _do_ have jet packs."

Ron's features crinkled in confusion even as the others' reflected their shock. "What are they?"

"They're..." the captain seemed to search for the right words, glancing around the room for inspiration, "back packs that make you fly."

Ron looked significantly impressed. "And they say muggles can't do magic."

"That _isn't magic, _Ron," Hermione emphasised, her tone beginning to turn exasperated.

Standing up with the rest of the crowd, they all began to exit the Great Hall; another tall teenage boy coming over to them clutching a plant. "Hello," he said, thrusting his free hand forward. "I'm Neville Longbottom. So...you're the new people!"

"You could say that," Kirk replied wryly. "I'm James Kirk and this is Leonard McCoy..." he cast a glance around the crowd and spotted his First Officer still among a cluster of Slytherins. "That's Spock."

Neville glanced at the Vulcan. "Watch out for him," he warned. "I've had friends go to Slytherin; they changed completely."

"Are you trying to tell us," McCoy asked, voice somewhere between amusement and annoyance, "that they're going to _brainwash_ him?"

Neville shrugged. "It wouldn't surprise me," he said before the crowd jostled them further up the stairs.


	7. Learning to Learn

**7. Learning to Learn.**

After asking directions from several students, and getting lost twice for good measure, they finally arrived outside the dungeons, eying the door with distaste.

"I have a bad feeling about this," Kirk said as they pushed open the door.

"That wouldn't have anything to do with the fact that we're late for a lesson with the grouchiest man we've met since Spock, would it?"

"Kind of," Kirk replied, stopping dead inside the door. "Sorry we're late, Professor," he said when all the eyes in the room turned to them curiously. "We got lost."

"I guessed as much," Snape sneered. "Apparently your little jaunt through the castle a few days ago did nothing to improve your navigational skills. Sit," he pointed at some seats at the back of the class.

"Unfortunately, there are no other places," Snape continued smoothly as they walked down the aisle. "However, you should be able to survive Potter's presence for an hour and a half."

He waited patiently until they had sat down and placed all of their equipment on the table. "As I was saying, you will be sitting an examination next June, during which you will prove how much, or how little depending on your intellect, you know on the topic of composition and use of magical potions. Moronic though some of this class undoubtedly are, I expect you to scrape an 'Acceptable' in your OWL, or suffer my...displeasure."

McCoy rolled his eyes. "He hasn't changed at all."

"Obviously," Spock replied.

Snape's gaze lingered on them. "Kindly refrain from talking in my class. I assure you that I can make life very unpleasant if you refuse to co operate."

There was silence.

"After this year of course, many of you will, thankfully, cease studying with me. I take only the very best into my NEWT Potions class, which means that some of us will be certainly saying goodbye." His eyes drifted to Harry, his lip curling.

"But we have another year to go before that happy moment of farewell," he continued smoothly. "Whether or not you are intending to attempt a NEWT, I advise you all to concentrate your efforts upon maintaining the high pass level that I have come to expect from my OWL students.

"Today, we will be mixing a potion that often comes at Ordinary Wizarding Level: the Draught of Peace, a potion to calm anxiety and soothe agitation. Be warned: if you are too heavy handed with the ingredients you will put the drinker into a heavy and sometimes irreversible sleep,"

"Oh God," McCoy murmured fearfully.

"...so you will need to pay close attention to what you are doing. The ingredients and method..." he flicked his wand at the board, "are on the black board. You will find everything you need in the store cupboard. You have an hour and a half...start."

Everyone immediately sprang to life, scrabbling to get the equipment and set up so that they had a better chance of finishing on time. The three officers followed suit, feeling completely lost as they made their way back to their bench, equipment in hand.

"Right," Kirk announced among the general hubbub. "Let's do this!"

"Be careful, Jim," McCoy warned. "I know what you were like at chemistry...I'll never forgive you if that cauldron blows up in my face."

Snape approached them. "Since you are unable to use magic, I have taken the liberty of acquiring Muggle technology." He handed them a Bunsen burner and thermometer each. "They are less precise, but they will have to suffice."

Just as they had predicted, the potion was extremely difficult, almost impossible, in fact, for people who had never before concocted a magical potion. Even while using the three people next to them as a guide, Kirk and McCoy soon found their potions to be going drastically wrong.

"Jim..." McCoy asked hesitantly, "do you know what to do for step five?"

"Nope," Kirk answered, unconcerned. His cauldron was emitting an ominous amount of smoke. "I was hoping you would know that."

McCoy swatted at his cauldron, which was emitting small amounts of sparks, although the colour was almost the correct shade. "I got lost after 'stir five times anti clockwise'..."

Spock sighed, momentarily abandoning his own perfect mixture to help his two fellow officers. "You must now stir it five times clockwise," he explained, "and add this ingredient," he held up a strange looking chopped plant.

At least, they thought it was a chopped plant.

"Ok," Kirk muttered dubiously.

"Not all at once, Captain."

"Too late," McCoy snickered as Kirk's cauldron disappeared in yet more smoke, flames leaping up now.

"You could have told me that before!" Kirk said angrily, eyes staring out of the mist accusingly at Spock.

"I assumed that you would deduce from the current amount of the ingredient on my bench that you do not add it all at once."

Kirk glanced at Spock's bench, noticing for the first time the extra pieces of chopped plant. "Oh...still, you could have told me."

"I will endeavour to do so next time, Captain."

"I won't get lost next time," the human retorted in determination.

"What is this, Mr Kirk?" Snape sneered, halting in front of them and swatting at the smoke.

"The Draught of Peace."

"Really? What is the purpose of said potion?"

"To relax the patient."

"Correct. And will this potion achieve that result?"

"It should."

"Wrong." He vanished the contents of the cauldron with one flick of his wand. "This potion, Kirk, will poison any unfortunate soul you give it to. Twenty points from Gryffindor." He eyed Kirk, his lip curling. "Although I suppose the aim would be succeeded, if somewhat unconventionally."

Sidling along to investigate the contents of McCoy's cauldron, his facial expression remained largely unchanged. "That is a mild improvement." He stated. "I believe that your victim would at least survive."

"With all due respect, Professor," McCoy said, with as much politeness as he could muster, "you can't expect us to be perfect on our first attempt."

Snape raised his eyebrows and indicated Spock's potion. "His results would appear to be perfect, don't you agree?"

"Yes," McCoy said grudgingly. "But he's a Vulcan. They're known for being insanely good at everything."

"Perhaps you should attempt to follow his example."

"But that's impossible!"

"You cannot hope to achieve his standard if you do not try, McCoy," Snape snapped. "Nothing comes from nothing!"

"I _am_ trying, Professor."

"Then I suggest you try harder." He turned his back on the fuming surgeon, inspecting Spock's potion instead. "An excellent first attempt," he finally said, approvingly. "You appear to have a natural talent for potions."

"Thank you, sir."

"Of course; that is significantly helped by competently reading the instructions provided," he finished with a significant glance at Kirk and McCoy before moving on.

"Potter," he declared, coming to a stop at Harry's station. "What is this supposed to be?"

"The Draught of Peace," Harry echoed Kirk's previous words to much amusement for the Slytherins.

"Tell me, Potter," Snape said softly. "Can you read?"

"Yes, I can."

Snape fixed the unfortunate boy with his malevolent gaze. "Since many of you seem incapable of correctly brewing a potion, perhaps you will benefit from hearing the instructions again." He said, eyes never leaving the boy's face. "Read the third line of the instructions for them, Potter."

"Add powdered moonstone, stir three times counter-clockwise, allow to simmer for seven minutes, then add two drops of syrup of hellebore."

"Did you do everything on the third line, Potter?" Snape asked smoothly.

"No." The answer was a murmur as the boy blushed, either through anger or embarrassment.

"I beg your pardon?"

"No," he repeated loudly. "I forgot the hellebore."

Snape allowed one corner of his mouth to lift in self satisfaction. "I know you did, Potter, which means that this mess is utterly worthless. _Evanesco_."

The contents of the potion vanished, as Kirk's had a few moments ago.

"Those of you who _have_ managed to read the instructions, fill one flagon with a sample of your potion, label it clearly with your name and bring it up to my desk for testing. Homework," he announced to stifled groans, "is twelve inches of parchment on the properties of moonstone and its uses in potion-making, to be handed in on Thursday." He levelled his gaze at the Enterprise officers. "That includes you three."

"We haven't learnt it yet," McCoy argued.

"Then I suggest you start reading." At McCoy's expression, he held up a finger. "Do not argue, McCoy. I expect twelve inches."

Mercifully, the bell rang and the class filed out gratefully, immediately throwing questions at the three newcomers.

"So," Neville asked conversationally, "where are you from?"

"Iowa," Kirk replied, the other two speaking at the same time so that their replies overlapped.

"Georgia."

"Vulcan."

"Vulcan?" Someone asked. "I've never heard of it. Is it in the elf region?"

Spock visibly stifled a sigh. "Negative. It...was a planet."

"What's it like?" Neville asked eagerly, having missed this part of the conversation the previous evening.

"Hot," McCoy interjected wryly, trying to lighten the situation when Spock failed to answer. "You could shrivel up if you stayed outside for more than three hours."

"That is highly inaccurate, Doctor."

"I just thought I'd make the conversation interesting, Spock. No use in letting them suffer through your monologue as you give them the weather of the past two years."

"I assure you, Doctor; I had no intention of doing that." There was a deep emotion swirling around in his eyes; it had been a very short time since Nero and most survivors were still emotionally recovering.

"Whatever," the physician retorted, smiling slightly to let Spock know that he was joking, hiding his concern with great difficulty.

"In reply to your query..." Spock said, turning back to Neville and embarking on a long and detailed description of his home planet, with several questions from the surrounding students.

"Looks like we're finally safe from questions for a while," Kirk said cheerfully, watching as Spock was bombarded with comments.

"I just hope it stays that way," McCoy grumbled as they entered the Great Hall. "Lord knows we've done enough explaining already."

Despite McCoy's hopes, they spent their entire lunch break fending off the questions of the students in their house, and could see Spock over at the Slytherin table doing the same. He seemed to be fitting in well with them, to Kirk and McCoy's relief but to the apparent disgust of the Gryffindors. Apparently, there was much enmity between the houses, and no amount of negotiating could change that.

Divination was much the same as Potions, although thankfully their teacher was much more laid back and less likely to jump down the throats of those who made mistakes. For the most part, they enjoyed the respite from the hectic life of this new universe, allowing themselves to lounge back on the comfy chairs and drift into a state dangerously close to sleep as they breathed in the strange scent which permeated the room.

Spock, however, was not so content to follow in their example. "This entire subject is illogical," he announced as they were told to begin reading tea leaves. "I find it extremely difficult to believe that gazing uselessly at tea leaves for an undetermined period of time will solve problems which will occur in the future."

McCoy sighed, and several heads turned in their direction. "Do you _have_ to criticise everything?"

"That is a rather hypocritical statement, Doctor, coming from you."

"Hey," Ron said, overhearing that last comment. "You shouldn't talk to your friends like that."

"I am merely stating the facts."

Ron shook his head in slight disgust. "You Slytherins are all the same...treating your friends like dirt."

"Mr Weasley," Professor Trelawney sang above the murmur in the class room. "Please turn around and concentrate on your cup!"

With a final glare in Spock's direction for good measure, Ron turned back around, but that did not stop Harry from eying the Vulcan with distaste written across every feature. Spock stared back at him impassively until Ron re-attracted his friend's attention and they got back to work.

Kirk sighed. "Spock, try to loosen up a little."

An eyebrow shot up. "'Loosen up'?"

"We know that you don't really mean to be insulting," Kirk explained to a snort from McCoy, "but they don't. Try to act less...uptight."

"I was unaware that I was doing so."

"Well," McCoy butted in, "you are. You're not on a Star Ship any more Spock, you're in a classroom."

"I am aware of that Doctor."

"Then stop acting so military," McCoy advised.

After a few moments of deliberation Spock inclined his head. "I shall attempt to follow your advice; however I can make no promises."

"We know, Spock," Kirk smiled. "Just do your best."

After much tea leaf reading later and instruction from Kirk and McCoy on how to 'let his hair down', Spock stood up to the sound of the bell and exited the stuffy room with an un-Vulcan sense of relief, waiting for his companions to join him at the bottom of the ladder.

Five minutes later, Kirk, Spock and McCoy followed the students into yet another classroom, feeling once more somewhat foolish as they sat at the back, by far the tallest in the room.

A squat, toad-like woman whom they recognised as Professor Umbridge was already seated behind the desk, wearing a ridiculously fluffy pink cardigan. A fly sized black bow perched precariously upon her head, emphasising her glittering beady eyes.

She eyed the three officers smilingly. "Good afternoon, everybody!" She finally chirped in a girlish voice.

A few people unenthusiastically murmured 'good afternoon' in reply.

"Tut, tut," Professor Umbridge admonished. "_That_ won't do, now, will it? I should like you, please, to reply 'good afternoon Professor Umbridge', yes – even you three at the back. I know that strictly speaking you are not Hogwarts students, but I expect you to act accordingly in my classes. One more time, please. Good afternoon, class!"

"Good afternoon Professor Umbridge," they chanted back at her, resentment written on a few faces at being treated like children. Kirk and McCoy exchanged glances before joining the rest of the class in the chorus.

"There now," the woman at the front simpered. "That wasn't too difficult, was it? Wands away and quills out, please."

There was a general murmur of disappointment as the students obeyed.

"I thought this was supposed to be a practical class," McCoy sniped under his breath.

"It makes no difference to us, Bones. We don't have any wands."

"The students, however, will not benefit from this method of teaching," Spock pointed out, ever logical.

"Silence please!" Umbridge smiled, eying them.

She rummaged in her handbag for something, which was even pinker than her cardigan. A few seconds later, she produced a stout wand which matched its owner completely. Turning around, she tapped the blackboard with it once, the words "Defence Against the Dark Arts, A Return To Basic Principles" appearing there in swirly pink script.

"Well now," she announced, turning to face the class and ignoring their slightly dismayed expressions. "Your teaching in this subject has been rather disrupted and fragmented, hasn't it?" She clasped her hands neatly in front of her. "The constant changing of teachers, many of whom do not seem to have followed any Ministry- approved curriculum, has unfortunately resulted in your being far below the standard we would expect to see in your OWL year." She surveyed the three at the back. "This applies to those of you who will be taking them, of course.

"You will be pleased to know, however, that those problems are now to be rectified. We will be following a carefully structured, theory – centred, Ministry – approved course of defensive magic this year. Copy down the following, please."

The first message was replaced upon command with the words; "Course Aims."

Spock surveyed them critically as everyone began copying them down, muttering "curious" under his breath.

"What?" Kirk whispered back.

"There is no mention of practical use of defensive magic."

"Well then, say something!" McCoy ordered, refocusing his attention on the black board and frowning slightly.

"I cannot, Doctor."

"Why not?" McCoy snapped.

"Because," the Vulcan explained patiently, "we are unaware of their usual method of teaching, and as we are in fact not students at this school but mere visitors, it would be impertinent to question her authority."

"Silence, please" Umbridge called again, smiling toadishly at them. "There is no need to talk."

They dutifully fell silent, and the room was filled with the scratching sound of quills for several minutes.

Finally, Umbridge stood and addressed them again. "Has everybody got a copy of _Defensive Magical Theory_ by Wilbert Slinkhard?"

At the dull murmur which rippled through the class, Umbridge tutted again. "I think we'll try that again. When I ask you a question, I should like you to reply 'Yes Professor Umbridge', or 'No, Professor Umbridge'. So: has everyone got a copy of _Defensive Magical Theory_ by Wilbert Slinkhard?"

"Yes, Professor Umbridge!"

"That woman is a megalomaniac," McCoy muttered.

"Do you have something to add?"

"No, Professor Umbridge," McCoy scowled.

"Good," replied Umbridge. "I should like you to turn to page five and read 'Chapter One, Basics for Beginners'. There will be no need to talk."

"At least we won't be behind," Kirk said, turning the page in question.

A few moments passed before McCoy spoke. "Jim, this thing doesn't make a damn lick of sense!"

"That, Doctor, is due to the fact that we know nothing of this universe."

"I know that, but you'd think that they'd explain it to beginners!"

"Perhaps if you focus your attention on the text and allow yourself to attempt to decipher it, you would not feel the need to-"

"Hem, hem!"

Spock snapped his head up to face Umbridge, his eyebrows raised once he realised that he had allowed himself to disturb the class, who were all staring at them, Hermione with her hand in the air. "I apologise for the disturbance..." He finally said.

"Make sure it does not happen again, Mister..."

"Spock," he supplied.

"What an unusual name," she simpered, suddenly changing her entire attitude in a dazzling display of multiple personality. "It suits you."

"Thank you..." Spock replied, looking completely confused. The class was staring at them in total shock, mixed with horror.

She gave him an uncertain smile before waddling back to the front of the class, her steps stilted as she apparently tried to put on a graceful air. A few of the Slytherins were tittering.

McCoy turned astonished eyes to Spock. "Was she _flirting_ with you Spock?"

"I am not certain. I believe that the comment about my name was referring to my different appearance, however that would appear to conflict with her expression at the time..." He trailed off, his expression becoming as worried as he would ever allow.

"Well whatever it is," Kirk said, trying not to smirk. "It looks like you're in trouble."

"Indeed..."

"Holy hell Spock," McCoy chuckled, tears coming to his eyes as he fought to control himself at the sight of Umbridge flicking imaginary dust off her jacket at the front of the class. "You've attracted a real stinker there!"

"Bones," Kirk chuckled, "she'll hear you!"

"Hem, hem!" Umbridge simpered, a repulsive smile plastered on her face as she glanced at Spock, who stiffened noticeably. "Resume reading, please."

It was with an expression of resignation and slight nervousness that Spock resolutely buried his face in his book, determinedly looking anywhere other than Umbridge. McCoy, for his part, was content to snicker alongside Kirk as they watched Umbridge gaze unceasingly at their Vulcan friend, despite the fact that one of the students still had her hand raised and a determined expression on her face.

Finally, when she could ignore the situation no longer, Umbridge sighed. "Do you want to ask something about the chapter, dear?" She was acting as though she had only just noticed her.

"Not about the chapter, no."

"Well, we're reading just now,"

"_We_ are," McCoy interrupted in a whisper, sending Kirk into a fit of silent shaking as he struggled to control himself.

"...If you have any other queries we can deal with them at the end of the class."

"I've got a query about your course aims."

"As I surmised," Spock murmured, his voice barely audible.

Umbridge raised her eyebrows, eyes shifting nervously to Spock for a split second. "And your name is?"

"Hermione Granger."

"Well, Miss Granger," she simpered, back in her element. "I think the course aims are perfectly clear if you read them through carefully."

"Well I don't," came the blunt reply.

"I like her already," McCoy murmured.

"She's just as insubordinate as you," Kirk replied, giving his physician a playful smile.

"_Using_ defensive spells?" Umbridge was saying, the sweetness becoming even thicker. Almost tangible. "Why, I can't imagine any situation arising in my classroom that would require you to use a defensive spell, Miss Granger. You surely aren't expecting to be attacked during class."

"There is more to life than a classroom," Kirk called, forestalling what could have become a rant on the part of Umbridge. "You can't fault them for wanting to defend themselves outside of class."

"Students, including you, raise their hands when they wish to speak in my class, Mister..."

"Kirk," the Captain snapped.

Professor Umbridge promptly turned her back on him. Several more hands rose in the class room, the students gaining a collective expression of outrage.

"Surely," Hermione spoke up, "the whole point of Defence Against the Dark Arts is to practise defensive spells?"

Smiling condescendingly, Umbridge seemed to relish the momentary power that she held in her grasp. "Are you a Ministry – trained expert, Miss Granger?"

"No, but..."

"Well then," she drew herself up to her full height, eying the class snootily. "I'm afraid you are not qualified to decide what the 'whole point' of any class is. Wizards much older and cleverer than you have devised a new programme of study. You will be learning about defensive spells in a secure, risk–free way..."

"She is incompetent," Spock murmured under his breath. Umbridge, seeing his lips moving and believing him to be supporting her, smiled.

"...If we're going to be attacked," Harry was saying, voice heavy with fury and righteous indignation, "it won't be in a-"

"_Hand_," Umbridge declared shrilly, "Mr Potter."

Spock calmly lifted his hand into the air. "Yes dear?"

"I concur with Mister Potter. An attack will not occur in a risk free environment. Such an event would be paradoxical."

Her smile became strained and her eyes narrowed. "I repeat, Mister Spock," the return to using his name was intended as a cold blow, but the only response was relief. "Do you expect to be attacked in my classes?"

Spock regarded her with a raised brow. "I would rather not voice my answer."

She stiffened slightly, back stepping as she seemed to stagger under the insulting insinuation. "I do not wish to criticise the way things have been run in this school," she said, her voice becoming slightly shaky as she attempted to regain herself, "but you have been exposed to some very irresponsible wizards in this class, very irresponsible indeed – not to mention," she gave a nasty laugh, gazing directly at Spock, "extremely dangerous half breeds." She smirked as Spock stiffened.

"If you mean Professor Lupin," a student continued, oblivious to the insults lying under the argument, "he was the best we ever..."

"That puffed up toad," McCoy was snarling, gripping his pen fiercely.

"Doctor, calm yourself."

"She just insulted you," the surgeon spluttered. "How can you just sit there and let her get away with it?"

"I have perfected this response over many years, Doctor," Spock replied neutrally. "I assure you that I am unaffected by such a routine insult."

"It is my understanding," Umbridge continued, a despicably victorious smirk plastered on her face, "that my predecessor not only performed illegal curses in front of you, he actually performed them on you."

"Well, he turned out to be a maniac, didn't he?" One of the students was beginning to go red in the face.

"Spock, you have to at least defend yourself," McCoy said under cover of the argument which still raged.

"Such an action would be futile, Doctor."

"Why? Just because she has authority?" McCoy scoffed.

"You may be willing to be insubordinate, Doctor; but I assure you that I have no such intention."

"Damn right I'm willing! I'm not just going to sit back and let you get slaughtered..."

"I am hardly getting 'slaughtered'."

"The point still stands," McCoy snarled. "She insulted you without reason."

"Doctor, I assure you that I am unaffected by such behaviour."

McCoy looked slightly mollified. "Ok, I know that the reason for that is partly my fault..."

"Mostly," Kirk interjected.

"Alright, mostly," McCoy amended, "but you at least know that I'm not being completely serious! That..._woman_ was completely sure that she was right; that she had the authority to insult you like that!"

"This is school, Mr Potter, not the real world," Umbridge's voice droned in the back ground.

"Bones, let it go."

"What?" McCoy rounded on Kirk furiously.

"Spock can take care of himself. This is his battle; it's his choice to fight."

"We both know he won't!" McCoy seethed. "He'll let it disintegrate into chaos!"

"Then if he does, we'll be there for him, but we won't interfere unless we absolutely have to, not while these people are the only ones who can help us."

"But..."

"Doctor," Spock placed a hand on McCoy's arm, an unusual act in itself. "I assure you that you need not worry. I am able to defend myself if necessary."

"It's NOT a lie!" Harry Potter suddenly bellowed. "I saw him, I fought him!"

"Detention, Mr Potter!" Professor Umbridge's voice was triumphant, her nose tilted slightly into the air as she remained at her full, stout height.

"How," McCoy snarled, standing up, "will giving a detention help anything?" All eyes trained upon him. "All you're doing is punishing him for the truth; ignoring the inevitable."

"There is no inevitable," Umbridge snapped. "He is _not back_."

She turned back to Harry. "Saturday evening, Mr Potter. Five o'clock. My office." She glanced at McCoy. "Do not consider arguing. You may not be a student but I still have the power to remove you from the premises."

McCoy sat back down, swearing under his breath.

"That, Doctor, was incredibly foolish."

"I had to try!"

"A futile effort. Her opinions cannot be changed. She has deluded herself into believing that Voldemort has not returned."

Suddenly, Umbridge stood before them, pink cardigan blazing. "I have told you once, Mr Spock," her previous sweetness was completely gone. "Do not talk out of turn in my class again!"

"I was merely explaining something to the Doctor," Spock said mildly.

"Perhaps you would care to share it with the class?"

"I do not believe that is wise."

She actually tapped her foot impatiently. "I am waiting, Mr Spock, and I will wait as long as necessary."

"Very well," Spock said coldly. "I was informing the Doctor that, since you are pretentious enough to assume that your views are objective, it is futile to argue." Umbridge drew back in fury, but Spock did not appear to notice or care. The class was staring at him in awe.

"Furthermore, if you wish to remain ignorant of the very real and obvious threat of Voldemort," there was a collective gasp, "rather than playing an active role to prepare yourself, thus rendering yourself vulnerable to future ridicule upon his return, we should do nothing to interfere, as it would be gratifying to see you receiving...I believe the human expression is 'your comeuppance'."

"Is that all?" She asked coldly.

"Negative. I also find your views on 'half breeds' to be distasteful, old fashioned, and overly bigoted. I am certain that much of the class would agree with me."

Everyone was gaping at him. McCoy was trying very hard to stifle a triumphant grin.

"Detention, Mr Spock, same time as Mister Potter."

The Vulcan raised an eyebrow. "Very well," he agreed neutrally. "However," he continued as Umbridge began to walk away, "it will do nothing to change the truth."

The Professor smiled fakely at him. "Any more out of you, and I will be forced to ask you to leave." She surveyed the class. "Now," she failed at trying to keep her voice girlish, as it had been before the whole fiasco, "Carry on with your reading." She glared at Spock. "There is no need to talk."

"'Atta boy Spock!" McCoy crowed, before the class fell silent once more.

Umbridge continued to perch at the teacher's desk, her smile firmly in place, but noticeably wavering when she fixed her beady eyes upon Spock, who was oblivious to this new development, having decided to continue reading the chapter. Occasionally he would raise an eyebrow at the text, his lips forming, but never actually saying, the word 'fascinating'.

Kirk and McCoy remained just as confused as they had been at the beginning of the lesson, the magical terms strewn across the page doing nothing to increase their confidence, although Kirk seemed slightly less bamboozled than McCoy. They had only managed to complete a few pages, whilst by contrast; Spock had almost finished that chapter and had made several notes by the time the bell rang.

The class gathered up their books without fuss, relieved at the prospect of escaping the room and finding the rest of their friends. A few eyed Spock curiously, smiling gratefully when he caught their gaze. It was only when they got outside the class room, and were certain that Umbridge would not hear them, that the congratulations began.

"That was incredible," Harry said, although his voice was only half sincere. Apparently he still did not like the Vulcan.

"Well well well," Malfoy sniggered, joining their small group, Crabbe and Goyle behind him. "Looks like you've lost yourself an admirer, Spock." He grinned genuinely, something that was rarely seen. "My compliments."

"It was of course the logical thing to do."

Malfoy snorted. "Either way, no one is going to forget it in a hurry." He patted Spock on the shoulder. "I'll save you your seat."

As Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle sauntered away, Harry, Ron and Hermione shot them hateful looks.

"Git," Ron said with feeling.


	8. Quidditch

**8. Quidditch.**

"I tell you Jim," McCoy moaned as they made their way to their first class of the morning, potions, "I'm never going to understand this place."

"Come on Bones! It's not _that_ bad!"

The acerbic physician studied the Captain, who was moving calmly through the throng of students, completely at ease. "Don't you miss the Enterprise?"

The voice was so soft and the comment so unexpected after all the rough complaining that Kirk blinked, stunned, before regaining himself and nodding with an unmistakably melancholic air. "Yes."

"Mr Scott is a perfectly capable commander," Spock reminded them. "The Enterprise will remain safe until our return."

"_If_ we return."

"Bones, that isn't exactly helping..." Kirk trailed off grimly, rubbing his hands over his eyes slightly wearily.

Spock gave McCoy the Vulcan equivalent of a glare. McCoy had the good grace to look sheepish. "Sorry Jim...I know how much you're worried about her, but Spock's right. Scotty'll take good care of her, and her...prisoners."

Kirk grinned. "They'll soon find there's nothing worse than an angry Chief Engineer..."

"We are fortunate to have such a dedicated officer within the Fleet."

Kirk nodded at Spock's general direction. "He's saved our hides more times than I can count."

"That is true."

McCoy sighed. "If this magic doesn't get us before we get back," he moaned, suddenly changing the subject, "I think the homework will!"

The Vulcan frowned slightly, taken off guard by the sudden comment. "Are you having difficulty?"

"Who wouldn't?"

"I have had none, Doctor."

McCoy eyed him for a moment. "Of course not. You're insufferably good at everything. Sometimes I think you do it just to annoy me."

Spock raised an amused eyebrow. "Such an achievement is hardly difficult."

Kirk rolled his eyes slightly and smiled. "What exactly are you stuck on, Bones? I might be able to help."

"The Potions essay."

The eyebrow was elevated even further. "That is due in for the next lesson."

"Which is now," Kirk added helpfully.

"I _know_ that, thank you very much!" McCoy snapped at the two officers. "Why else would I be bringing it up?"

"Snape's going to _kill_ you," Ron said, having overheard their conversation whilst the group was jammed in the corridor traffic.

"I can help you next time," Hermione offered. "I know that's not much use for you now, but..."

McCoy smiled thankfully. "I'd appreciate that, thank you."

She brushed aside his thanks with a well practiced air. "Just let me know."

"Trust me," Ron interjected with pride, "she's brilliant."

"We are well aware of that," Spock said, levelling his piercing gaze upon the teenager.

"Spock..." Kirk said gently, eyes reminding the Vulcan of the conversation that they had had last time the First Officer had inadvertently started an argument with the three students.

Spock, for his part, seemed to regret promising to "let his hair down". He allowed his features to lose some of their severity, however, as he returned his gaze to a bewildered and slightly insulted Ron. "I apologise," he said neutrally, "for my...abrupt tone."

"It's a usual thing for him," McCoy added. "You get used to it."

Spock shot the Doctor a brief look. "I have been informed that my manner of communicating may cause offense to some humans less well versed with Vulcan speech patterns. Therefore, I apologise for any future instances that may occur and assure you that it is not my intention to cause offense." He hesitated slightly before adding; "it was merely the way of the Vulcans." There was a pang of grief in his eyes.

"Ok," Harry said sceptically, clearly at a loss for words.

"We understand," Hermione assured him although her expression belied her words. "Don't we, Ron?"

"Yeah..." Likewise, he did not sound convinced.

There was a sudden cackle overhead and pandemonium reigned as a recognisable poltergeist swooped mischievously over the masses, pure glee shining on his silvery face.

"Not again..." McCoy growled, even as the three teenagers tried to pull them through the screaming crowd to safety. Their exit was blocked.

"Has anyone gone to the Bloody Baron?" Hermione asked.

"I dunno," Ron answered, ducking a dumb bomb aimed at his head. "He's not very inventive, is he?"

"Who?" McCoy asked. "The Bloody Baron?"

"No...Peeves. This is the second time since we got back that he's done this..."

"Who's the Bloody Baron?" Kirk asked, oblivious to the rest of the conversation.

"He's the one who usually handles this," Harry explained.

"...Is he a _vampire_?" McCoy asked warily.

"No," Hermione answered calmly, as though the question was normal for newcomers. "He's a ghost."

"But very effective in a crisis," Harry added.

"With a name like that I think he would be," Kirk said wryly.

"That's..._gah!_" McCoy broke off what he was saying as a projectile hit him square in the back of the head. "Are you _NUTS?_" He suddenly bellowed at Peeves, gesturing wildly.

"Maybe," the poltergeist smirked in amusement as McCoy's face grew steadily redder.

"_God_ _damn it man!_" McCoy ranted, ignoring the various entreaties to stop. "Don't you have anything more constructive to do?"

"Why should I?"

"I don't know," McCoy said sarcastically, "but since you have an infinite amount of time, maybe you could think of _SOMETHING!_"

"Such as?" Peeves smirked.

"_Not getting attacked by me, for one," _McCoy snarled, moving to lunge at the laughing Peeves.

Malfoy, who had been watching the entire exchange, guffawed as the crowd in the corridor dispersed with the arrival of the Bloody Baron. "Cursing ghosts are we, McCoy?"

"What have you got to do with it?" McCoy snapped, as Peeves was convinced into drifting slowly away, waving his phantom hand at McCoy and sneering.

"I enjoy watching you embarrass yourself," the blond said simply, a smirk spreading across his face. "It makes a change to Weasley and Potter. They've become predictable."

As the latter two stiffened, McCoy drew himself up. "You sound like the sort who is easily entertained."

Malfoy's eyes flashed. "I wouldn't push your luck, McCoy. Being friends with a Slytherin won't stop you from getting what you deserve."

McCoy snorted. "What would that be; a bogey hex?"

"Don't you need your two cronies before you threaten people, Malfoy?" Ron demanded.

"Ron!" Hermione uttered, eyes wide.

"Yeah," Harry joined in. "What happened? Did your bodyguards find something more interesting to protect?"

"Harry!"

"A toad, perhaps?" Ron suggested.

"Both of you!" She finally exclaimed, her lips tightly drawn together. "Stop it, it's not worth it."

A wand was whipped out and pointed at the two boys, who also raised their weapons, deaf to Hermione's protests. All three glared at each other.

"Ron, Harry! Put them away," she hissed.

"He deserves what's coming to him," Ron said loudly.

Malfoy sneered. "I look forward to thrashing you both."

"Without Crabbe and Goyle?" Harry asked calmly. "Getting brave, Malfoy?"

"You push me Potter," the other boy snapped, aiming at Harry and yelling a flurry of words.

Spock, to everyone's surprise, suddenly pushed the teenager to the side, taking the bolt of magic full to the chest. He blinked and stepped backwards one pace, but otherwise did not react.

"What did you do?" Kirk asked menacingly, glancing in concern from Spock to the wand and back again.

Malfoy looked stunned. "That wasn't supposed to happen..." He peered at Spock anxiously.

"I am unharmed," the Vulcan answered in reply to the silent question. "However, it would be gratifying if you reversed the effects of the spell." His lips twitched treacherously. "They are quite...distracting."

Mouths gaping, the three Gryffindors watched as the spell was reversed.

Completely unaffected, Spock nodded his head in Malfoy's direction. "Perhaps it would now be prudent to apologise for your malicious intentions."

"Apologise?" Malfoy snorted.

Spock's stony expression did not change. "I believe that is the correct human custom." He stared at the young man before him.

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Sorry, Potter," he finally spat grudgingly.

"Mr Potter was not the only one threatened," Spock pointed out mercilessly.

"I'm not apologising to _Weasley_ as well!"

"Very well," Spock said, inclining his head. "Then perhaps you would prefer to explain to Professor McGonagall why you are unwilling to do so."

With a look of dawning comprehension, Malfoy turned around to stare straight into the eyes of a furious head of Gryffindor house. "Mr Potter, Mr Weasley," she began. "I have warned you against provoking your fellow students."

"We didn't-"

"I don't want any excuses, Potter." She turned her gaze to Malfoy. "Come with me."

Looking like he was being taken to the gallows, the Slytherin followed, turning to glare over his shoulder at the Gryffindors who stood, staring.

"At this moment," Spock said, "it is time to remind you that we are going to be late, if we do not continue on our route."

"Spock...what _was_ that spell?" Kirk asked curiously as he caught up with the tall Vulcan.

"I am uncertain, however the results were not unlike what you and McCoy often refer to as...'tickling'."

"You were tickled?" McCoy asked in amusement.

"Yes, Doctor."

"Leave it to a Vulcan to take the fun out of a _tickle_ fight..." Despite his words, the CMO was smiling at the man beside him.

"I see no amusement in what I had to endure."

"Oh of course, Mister Spock," McCoy grinned. "And you didn't feel the slightest need to laugh."

"Do not insult me, Doctor."

"I thought so," McCoy said knowingly to Kirk, making sure that his voice was loud enough for the Vulcan to hear.

Yet his good mood soon faded when they all arrived outside the dungeon doors, well aware that they were now a good ten minutes late.

"We're doomed," Ron stated.

"We'll just have to explain..." Hermione began hopefully.

"Snape never listens to explanations, Hermione," Harry reminded her. "You know that as well as we do."

"We're doomed," Ron repeated.

"Absolutely," McCoy agreed.

"A more productive course of action would be to enter the room."

Ron looked at Spock as though he had grown an extra head. "Are you mad?"

"Fortunately, no."

"You want us to go in there?"

Spock sighed slightly. "If we remain out here, Mr Weasley, we will only succeed in becoming more out of favour with your Professor."

"Alright then," Kirk said. "Let's go in..." Gathering himself visibly, he pushed open the door.

Snape halted mid word, regarding them with an angry sneer on his face as they mumbled their apologies and took their seats. The class was watching the scene with obvious empathy, except for the Slytherins who were relishing the moment.

"Why," Snape drawled in a dangerously low tone of voice, standing and approaching their bench, "are you six late for my class?"

"We were detained by Mr Peeves," Spock explained, the only one not intimidated by the Potions Master's livid glare.

"As were the vast majority of the students behind me," Snape pointed out. "Yet they, at least, managed to arrive on time."

"There were complications," Spock admitted.

"Complications?" Snape repeated, eyes narrowing.

"Malfoy tried to attack me, sir," Harry explained.

"That, Potter, comes as no surprise," Snape drawled. "Anyone within a ten meter radius of you has tremendous self control to not take the same course of action." He tilted his head. "Then again, many have. The most sensible ones, obviously."

The Slytherins snickered.

"You will all do extra homework," he said calmly, "for failing to be on time. I expect three feet of parchment on my desk by tomorrow morning."

"On what topic?" Spock asked.

"The one I am about to teach you," Snape sneered. "I suggest that you all remember it." With a dramatic swish of his robes, he strode quickly back to the front of the class, pivoting round to face them with ease. "Quills out," he ordered. He tapped the black board with his wand sharply. "Copy this down."

For the next few minutes, the sound that penetrated the room was that of scratching quills on parchment as everyone bent their heads over their work, studiously avoiding their Professor's strict gaze.

"Finished, Mr Kirk?" His lip curled. "Or perhaps you simply enjoy staring vacantly at the board."

The Captain was visibly struggling to remain civil at Snape's tone. "I can't read your writing, sir. It's illegible."

"Yet you have succeeded at reading it since the beginning of term."

There was a telling silence.

"Have you made _any_ notes in my classes?" The Professor's voice was ominous as he leaned forwards and narrowed his eyes.

"Not _in_ the class exactly," Kirk hedged.

"Then when?"

"Aftwerwards."

"I am astounded," Snape replied with slight irritation colouring his dour voice, "that a man as 'prestigious' as you can allow himself to be so dense. Did it not occur to you to inform me sooner?"

"...No..." Kirk admitted sheepishly. "I didn't want to annoy you, sir."

The corner of Snape's mouth twitched. "Yet you have succeeded, Kirk. How unfortunate. Twelve points from Gryffindor."

"With all due respect, sir," Kirk raised his voice slightly to carry across the classroom as the quills began scratching again at Snape's command. "I see no need to punish the rest of the house."

"Oh?" Snape asked ominously.

"You're in for it now mate," Ron muttered sympathetically.

"Tell me, Mr Kirk, are you a teacher at this school?"

"No, but I don't think it's fair to punish other people for what I-"

"I did not ask," Snape interrupted, "for your opinion."

Kirk obediently remained quiet. All eyes were now upon him.

"It is not your place," the man continued, "to question how I choose to keep order in my classes."

"I still don't think-"

"Do not," Snape said loudly, "argue with me, Kirk. I can make life very...unpleasant, for you."

"I'm sure you can, Professor," Kirk conceded.

"Jim," McCoy hissed, "for the love of God, shut up!"

"However," the Captain continued relentlessly, "I do not see how this involves anyone else. I'm the one who made the mistake, not them."

"Then it is fortunate that you do not teach in this establishment," Snape sneered. "Your class would surely descend into anarchy."

"I don't punish my whole crew for something one person did," Kirk pointed out. "Doesn't the same theory work in a classroom?"

"Your crew, Kirk, are not witches and wizards. Perhaps you would be content to sit back and allow total havoc to descend upon you, but I for one am not." He did not stop staring at the Captain, who was beginning to regret ever arguing with the man. "Twenty more points from Gryffindor."

There was a collective groan from the class. "Perhaps," Snape said smoothly, surveying the students before them. "There is someone who would wish to protest?" Everything remained still. "No one?" He sneered, glancing back at the Captain. "A most effective method, Kirk," he smirked.

Standing up, he moved to stand in front of the first row benches. "If there are no more untimely interruptions," he said pointedly, "I will continue with my class. These ingredients," he said, indicating the board "must never be used together. To do so would result in an untimely and rather messy death." His eyes roamed over the scribbling students, his eyes resting on Harry contemptuously for a moment. "Much as I would like to demonstrate, its practical use is illegal in schools."

"Jim," McCoy whispered frantically undercover of Snape's droning voice. "What the hell were you playing at?"

Kirk shrugged, not meeting his friend's eyes. "I just thought it was unjustified."

"You lost them even more points!"

"It's just house points, Bones."

"You try telling that to the students," McCoy hissed back. "I'm not so sure they'll share your point of view."

"Bones, it's not important."

"I know that and you know that, but do they?" He sighed and dropped his voice lower. "Follow your own advice Jim, and don't get on the wrong side of Snape. We need his help, remember?"

"Of course I do!"

"Then act like you do, damn it!"

"Kirk, McCoy!" Snape barked, stalking over towards them. "Have you heard a word I just said?"

"That the use of those ingredients together will result in a horrific death," Kirk said desperately.

Snape placed his hands on the table, closing the distance between them. "No," he said shortly.

"You did say that," Kirk pointed out.

"Two minutes ago, Kirk. Did you hear anything after that point?"

"No sir."

The man's jaw tightened. "Do not try my patience any further, unless you wish to experience my further displeasure," he enunciated slowly. "Understood?"

"Yes sir."

Snape favoured him with a grim look. "You are almost as infuriating as Potter...a feat which I had previously assumed to be unachievable." He began to stalk away.

"Git," Ron muttered sympathetically.

"Detention, Weasley," the professor threw over his shoulder, turning to face the rest of the class. "Seven o'clock. My office. Do not keep me waiting."

The door banging open stifled Ron's quiet protests, and Snape rounded on it immediately, eyes narrowing when he saw who was there.

"Sorry I'm late, Professor," Malfoy said, glaring at the group seated along the back bench.

"You had better hope, Mister Malfoy, that it does not happen again," Snape drawled. "Potter has already explained what happened," he added when Malfoy opened his mouth to explain. "My only regret is that you got caught."

Malfoy smirked back at his teacher as he took his seat.

"Curious," Spock murmured.

"What is?"

"Professor Snape did not punish Mister Malfoy, Captain. Such an irregular method of discipline is hardly logical."

"He lets the Slytherins get away with anything," Harry explained.

"Fascinating."

"Perhaps, Potter, you would care to allow me to finish my class before I retire?"

"Sorry, Professor," Harry mumbled, not looking at all sorry. When Snape resumed talking he risked leaning further in. "See?"

"Indeed," Spock frowned.

The lesson passed in much the same way as usual, with a noticeable lack of noxious gasses engulfing the room being the only exception. Snape too appeared to be grateful for such small mercies, although his tone never betrayed such sentiments. The students, through sheer fear of their sharp professor, were quietly attentive, even making notes where appropriate when they would not have done so in any other class. It was, of course, with much relief that they began filing out when the bell rang at the end of the lesson.

"I expect six extra essays, in addition to the homework which I have just set," Snape reminded them. "Anyone who fails to complete this task will receive detention."

"Yes sir," they chorused in unison.

It was only when they were exiting the dungeons that they dared to begin talking, knowing that here they could not be overheard.

"Blimey," Ron exclaimed. "He gets worse every year."

"I pity you," Kirk said with feeling.

"We've suffered for our education."

"Don't be ridiculous, Ron," Hermione admonished.

"You're right...more like tortured." He received a smile from Harry and an amused shake of the head from Hermione in reply.

"I would hardly classify your education as torture."

"You'd be surprised," Harry said wryly, sharing a briefly significant look with the two other students. "RON!" He suddenly exclaimed, making everyone with the exception of Spock jump. "You'll miss Quidditch!"

"Merlin's beard, I forgot!" Ron gasped. "Do you think he'll let me out of detention early?"

"No," Hermione said shortly.

"I'll tell Angelina," Harry promised, "see what I can do."

"Thanks mate," Ron grinned in relief. "Are you going, Captain?"

"Jim," Kirk corrected absently. "I wouldn't miss it."

"Now wait just a damn minute," McCoy blustered. "I don't trust you!"

"Bones, I'll be fine!"

"Don't you remember the last time you said that? The Thestral ride?" McCoy snapped.

"That one wasn't my fault, in my defence."

"Neither is anything else, but it still happens! You're the most accident prone man I know, and I can't put you back together every time something goes wrong, Jim!"

"_Nothing_ will go wrong!"

"One day you're going to get yourself killed with that statement."

"I'll let you know when I do then," Kirk retorted.

"Spock, back me up here!"

"Doctor McCoy is correct Captain."

"_Thank you!_" McCoy crowed, even as Kirk scowled slightly.

"However," Spock continued, putting a dramatically swift stop to McCoy's celebrations, "I believe that with the correct supervision, another incident may be prevented."

"What are you getting at?" McCoy asked, eyes narrowing.

"Although the Captain does show a tendency to, utilising various different methods, inflict injuries upon himself, past experience would suggest that he would be considerably less likely to do so if accompanied."

"You're coming?" Kirk asked hopefully.

"It is within my duties as First Officer."

"We both know it's really because you want to fly a broom," Kirk teased, grin growing wider when Spock visibly hesitated before answering.

"That was a factor in my reasoning, yes. It would be an interesting scientific experience."

"Spock, you're full of surprises."

Meanwhile, McCoy seemed to have recovered the power of speech. "No."

"No what?"

"You're not going, Jim."

"Bones, you're not my mother."

McCoy rolled his eyes. "I thank my lucky stars everyday that I'm not a woman."

Ron snorted, and Hermione elbowed him, making him jump visibly. "What was that for?" Hermione pretended not to hear, instead subtly picking up the pace and beckoning the two boys to follow her, leaving the other three to sort out the matter of Quidditch in peace.

"...I'd be greyer than an elephant," McCoy was continuing. "With your damn fool stunts, it's a wonder you've lived so long. You've got more lives than a cat!"

"Doctor," Spock interrupted, "a cat has only one life."

"I know!" The surgeon snapped.

"Then I fail to understand the importance of your analogy. Why not use another animal?"

McCoy stared at him.

"It's a human thing," Kirk whispered in explanation.

"Evidently that is the cause for its lack of logical meaning."

"Why," McCoy demanded, "can't you even let me rant in peace?"

"I was unaware that you required peace to fulfil what is generally perceived to be a stressful pastime."

Kirk suddenly found it very difficult to keep a straight face.

"Spock?"

"Yes, Doctor?"

"Shut up." McCoy turned back to face Kirk. "And don't think this means I'm finished with you," he threatened. "You're going to hear a _lot more_ on my opinions of Quidditch. _Both_ of you."

oOo

Despite McCoy's protests, Kirk and Spock made their way down to the Quidditch pitch sometime later, admiring the view as they went.

An impossibly large, ringed arena loomed before them, various turrets spaced along the walls which marked the pitch's boundaries. Flags of varying colours flapped in the slight breeze, which was beginning to turn cold with winter approaching. The rest of the Hogwarts grounds dropped away behind it, emphasising its grandeur and majestic appearance. It was a monument in its own right, and the sight of it made them wonder just how popular this game was over the rest of the wizarding world.

"Too bad Bones refused to come."

"Indeed," Spock agreed dryly. "Perhaps he concluded that witnessing such a sport would be harmful to his undoubtedly high levels of blood pressure."

Kirk snorted. "I wonder how this game is played anyway," he mused, gazing at the various players warming up around the pitch, "and how you're supposed to ride a broom..."

"It does appear to defy the known laws of physics. Although considering previous experience of this universe, such an occurrence is hardly surprising."

"Not to mention that it's illogical," Kirk pointed out in amusement, watching as Spock's eyes twinkled in reply.

"Highly."

As soon as they reached the stadium, they were spotted by Harry and Ron, who immediately motioned for them to join the group assembled around their team captain. Their captain, who had obviously been in the process of making a short speech to both the present team and the auditionees, gave them a slightly impatient smile.

"We don't have a lot of time," she explained, thrusting a broom at Kirk and giving Spock a slightly annoyed glance. "And the Slytherins decided to watch, but don't let that distract you." She studied the blond man for a moment. "So you're one of the spacemen?"

Kirk grinned at the term and offered his free hand. "Jim Kirk."

"I'm Angelina, team captain." She shook the offered hand brusquely. "Any position you're trying for in particular?"

"I don't actually know how to play," he admitted.

"If you want to make the team, you'll need to pick it up fast," she said, sighing slightly. "I might as well give you a quick rundown before we begin."

"That," Kirk agreed, "would be useful."

"It's actually quite simple," she began, beckoning him over to the equipment and ignoring Spock, who followed close behind. "A chaser," she said, lifting up a ball for his inspection, "goes after a Quaffle, which is this. They try to get it through those hoops," she pointed at three rings high above the ground. "The keeper's job is to stop that from happening." She peered at him. "Are you with me so far?"

"Yes."

"Right. The Beaters use these bats to protect the rest of the team from bludgers, which are bewitched to fly at players. The seeker searches for the golden snitch," she held up each item as she spoke. "They also try to protect their own seeker, using the bludgers to stop anyone who could distract them."

"...Ok."

"When the snitch is found, the game is ended and 150 points are awarded to the team who finds it."

"How many points do the Quaffles get?"

"Ten. Do you understand the rules so far?"

"Yes."

She regarded him sceptically. "If you perform well, I'll tell you the rest later. If you make the team." She turned her gaze to Spock. "Can I help?"

"I am merely here to ascertain that the Captain does not injure himself."

"I'd prefer you to do that in the stands," she said shortly. "I don't want my team getting distracted."

"I'll be fine," Kirk assured the Vulcan, patting him on the arm.

"Right!" Angelina raised her voice to address everybody in Gryffindor. "Form a line over here, please. We'll see how you do with each of the positions." A collective sneering drifted towards them from the stands, where the Slytherins were watching with contempt.

"Just ignore them! Luke, you're up first. We'll try you with the Quaffle, if that's alright?" When the teenager in question nodded, she motioned at members of the team to mount their brooms. "Passing first, and then scoring. Good luck!"

With a slightly worried expression, Luke shot up into the air, going slightly higher than necessary and subsequently allowing the Quaffle to miss his fingertips and fall towards the earth. One of the team members swooped down and caught it, lifting it high so that Luke could see it, and then throwing it towards him. It was dropped again.

The Slytherins jeered. "Gryffindor are losers! Gryffindor are losers!"

"Not exactly imaginative are they?" Angelina said grimly, clapping her hands. "Don't let them distract you, Luke. Keep going!"

Kirk, standing nervously at the back of the queue, quietly tried to take in as much as possible; the technique of flying, the way they sat on the broom when catching the ball, the correct way to hit a bludger. Yet he found himself, due to the fast pace of it all and the distracting hollering from above, soon getting lost.

Trying to be as inconspicuous as possible, he took a step or two back and sat on his broom, mimicking the actions of the people who were flying above him, all the while taking great care to keep his feet planted firmly on the ground. This roused a fresh burst of guffawing from the stands, but he ignored it studiously, concentration narrowing to include only the players on the pitch and himself.

It therefore came as a great surprise when he began to float steadily higher and higher, unable to stop himself at all. "Uh..." he muttered to himself, silently debating whether or not he actually wanted the embarrassment of asking for help.

A figure which could only be Malfoy immediately stood up and pointed. "Look! He can't even control his broom!" There was a round of jeers.

Slowly, the people below him turned around to stare, the tryouts abruptly forgotten as they gazed at him in shock, their expressions becoming even harder to determine as he rose higher and higher.

"Kirk!" Angelina bellowed. "It's not your turn yet!"

"I thought I'd practise!"

"You're not doing a very good job!" A Slytherin yelled. Kirk seethed both from anger and embarrassment as Harry patiently flew over to him.

"Place your hands on your broom and lean forwards like this," he instructed. Kirk did so, and immediately felt himself descending next to Harry.

"Thanks..." he muttered.

"No problem. But...try not to do that in your tryout." With one last grin, he resumed hovering over the stand.

Face burning slightly; he felt his feet touch the ground, everyone's eyes upon him. "Sorry..."

"Don't worry about it," one of them assured him, "I had the same trouble on my first flight...at least you didn't break anything."

"I'm beginning to think Bones' worries were justified..." Kirk muttered as his name was called and he got onto his broom once more, uneasily placing his hands in front of him and concentrating upon hovering steadily.

"Ready?" Angelina asked.

He nodded wordlessly, and a Quaffle was immediately thrown towards him. Hands outstretched, he felt time slow down and his vision zero in upon the object, which was going faster than any ball in any game he had ever played. He had just one chance, one opportunity. He could not fail.

Elated, he felt his hands grip the edges of the ball and his mouth curved into a smile, which rapidly disappeared.

The ball did not stop, and he soon found himself flying backwards helplessly with the force of the throw, until he came to a mortified stop some meters away from where he had previously been. Scrabbling for a handhold at this sudden change in velocity, he wobbled precariously on his broom, finding himself hanging from it upside down briefly.

To his horror, he began to move forwards once more, still upside down, with no idea where he was going thanks to the robes dangling in his vision. Vaguely, he could here laughter and cat calls above the thumping in his temples as his nose suddenly came perilously close to the ground.

The grass caressed his face, making him scrunch his nose up in a valiant effort not to sneeze. Not entirely successful, he made an odd sound; half hack and half hiccup, the momentum pushing him halfway into a sitting position, his own strength pulling him the rest of the way up.

Finally able to remain in at least a partially dignified position, he flew back over to the group with some caution, drawing his arm back and flinging the Quaffle at the nearest flying team member with all of his strength. It reached the target, and he received an approving nod.

"Try to stay as relaxed as possible!" Angelina shouted when he felt himself wobble once more. "Ready for another try?"

"I think so..."

"Ok." She signalled once more, and the process was repeated.

This time, Kirk was ready for the ball when it came, adjusting his position as appropriate to absorb the impact caused by speed, and drawing his hand back to throw the object back with relative ease. In comparison to his last attempt, this round was a complete success.

"Not bad, not bad," the team captain muttered approvingly. "One more try?"

"Sure! I think I'm getting the hang of it now..."

This time, he did not even wobble, although he almost missed his target when he threw it back, forcing the player to lunge in order to catch the Quaffle. Angelina nodded in satisfaction. "On to the Bludgers!"

Harry flew over and smilingly handed him what appeared to be a stout wooden bat and a Bludger. "Good luck. And remember...don't actually try to hit him with it, just aim near him."

"Right..." Kirk answered, staring dubiously at the equipment in his grasp.

"When you're ready," came the call from the ground.

Taking a deep breath, he threw the bludger into the air gently and used both hands to bring the bat round and smash it with all of his strength, staring after it in dumbfounded fascination as it proceeded to hurtle towards a player.

Fortunately, they had been trained well and ducked in time to avoid a painful hit to the head. The bludger hurtled past him and into the stands, sending screaming Slytherins running for cover.

"Nice one, Jim!" Ron called from his own position, a manic grin plastered over his features.

"I don't think we need to try that again..." Angelina said, staring at the small hole created by the impact between bludger and stadium. "Thank you, you may land now..."

Grinning in helpless amusement, he set down among the crowd of staring Gryffindors, who proceeded to congratulate him.

"That was really good!"

"You've _never_ hit a bludger before?"

He shook his head at the latest question. "Never. In fact, I didn't know that would happen..."

"Well," the teenager he identified as Luke said, "you did a damn good job, if you ask me."

Angelina strode over to them, a slightly tired but satisfied smile on her face. "Thank you all for coming! I'll let you know at breakfast tomorrow whether or not you made it."

The Slytherins, sensing that the entertainment was over, began to spill out from the stands, sneering at various Gryffindors.

"Well well well," Malfoy drawled, coming to a stop in front of Kirk, with Spock just behind him, eyebrow raised. "Pity you couldn't fly your broom, Kirk. You might actually have made a good impression if you could."

"My bludger was good enough," Kirk bristled. "I can't be perfect on my first attempt."

"No," Malfoy sneered. "But I doubt practice would do much use."

Kirk shook his head, irritated. "I was only here to see what the game was, and to have a go. I don't necessarily want to make the team." Yet as he said those words, he immediately knew that they were not true.

"Whatever. You'll never get in, anyway. Not unless all other players are out of action," the boy spat. "Slytherin will win, whatever happens," he hurled over his shoulder, as he turned to leave.

"That boy," Kirk snarled to Spock when the Vulcan drew level with him, "is worse than some of the people I used to go to college with."

"Understandably," Spock said dryly. "He can of course add magic to his threats."

"That's...not really what I meant but I guess you're right."

As they began walking back to the castle, Spock folded his hands behind his back and began speaking neutrally. "I was pleasantly surprised by your performance, Captain."

"Apart from the fact where I flew upside down."

The Vulcan nodded his head in wry amusement. "That was not one of your finer moments. However, you appeared to learn quickly."

"Didn't think I had it in me, did you?"

"No sir," Spock replied, deadpan.

"Why Spock, I am insulted," he said with a fake wounded expression.

"I see no reason why you should be, sir. It was merely a statement of fact. You have never before participated in this sport and as such the odds of you succeeding immediately were low."

He was about to remind Spock that he was joking, but changed his mind mid sentence, knowing it would have no effect. He settled on something else instead. "How low?"

"You would not benefit from hearing them."

"That bad?" He sighed, stepping through the doors to the Great Hall. "At least Bones will be grateful I'm still in once piece..."

"Knowing the Doctor, you are likely to receive more complaints, despite your success in avoiding injury."

Sure enough, McCoy immediately rounded on him when Kirk joined him at the Gryffindor table, and Kirk had just enough time to see Spock raise an "I told you so" eyebrow as he disappeared to the Slytherin domain before the hall melted away around him and he began the longest meal time of his life, punctuated by various assurances that nothing happened. As time dragged slowly by and McCoy proceeded to rant himself blue in the face, he couldn't help but muse that things never really changed.


	9. Umbridge

**9. Umbridge.**

Morning dawned to a downpour of rain, a merciless lashing of water against the castle windows and walls. It was accompanied by a howling wind which raged through the trees and threw itself with reckless abandon at anything which was unfortunate enough to cross its path.

The Great Hall, in stark contrast, was a bustling warmth of activity, punctuated by the occasional surprised shout provoked by a rain sodden owl landing on the breakfast table. Another Hogwarts weekend had arrived, and the students were relieved at the chance for rest or, in Harry and Ron's case particularly, to catch up with homework.

The tables were not as packed as usual, since some students preferred to lie in on a Saturday morning, while others were out in the vicious onslaught, practising for Quidditch.

Sitting down to his usual bowl of Crackling Cereal, McCoy nudged a distracted Kirk in the arm. "Have you seen Spock this morning?"

"No. I thought he might have gone to the library early. He was saying yesterday that he had a lot of work to do."

"Jim," McCoy sighed, abandoning his food momentarily to roll his eyes in exasperation at his friend, "he's finished all his work. I saw him doing it."

"This is _Spock_ we're talking about. He's probably doing something extracurricular."

"That sounds about right," McCoy admitted. "He'll probably be researching the Whomping Willow or something..."

"He's done that," Kirk replied absently, his attention seemingly grabbed by Angelina, who was walking towards him with an enigmatic expression on her face.

"I have good news, and bad news."

"Hello to you too," McCoy grumbled beneath his breath, poking his cereal.

"What is it?"

"You made the team."

"Oh Lord..." McCoy groaned miserably. "What's the good news?"

Angelina ignored him completely. "The bad news is that you're only a sub."

"I understand," Kirk assured her truthfully.

"I want you to know," she said sincerely, "that you have great potential, with the right amount of training...although your flying skills could use a little work..."

Kirk grinned despite himself. "I'll work on that."

She nodded, smiling back. "Glad to hear you're happy with the arrangements. Congratulations, Kirk."

"Jim," he said automatically, even as she walked away. "What do you think Bones?"

McCoy sighed and jabbed at the cereal viciously. "You know by now what I think."

"I give you permission for another rant..." Kirk offered.

"Tempting...but I know it won't do any good. Just promise me one thing."

"What?"

"Don't end your career with a crash on a broom. You'd never live it down."

Kirk laughed and slapped his friend on the shoulder. "I'll do my best to avoid that."

Harry, Ron and Hermione sat across from them, looking much more relaxed at the prospect of the days of freedom before them.

"I hear you made the team," Ron said through a mouthful of toast.

"News sure does travel fast here," McCoy muttered.

"Yeah, well done!" Harry added, helping himself to breakfast. "I was glad to see you got control of your broom back." McCoy's grip on his spoon tightened.

"That was the funniest thing I've seen since Neville's first attempt," Ron continued cheerfully. "He broke his wrist though..."

"What was so special about what Jim did?"

"He flew upside down and almost crashed headfirst into the grass," Ron explained, oblivious to Hermione's warning looks. "Lucky he sneezed, really, otherwise he would have fallen off..."

"Jim," McCoy said in a menacingly low voice, setting the spoon down with a clatter, "I've changed my mind."

Kirk sighed. "I thought you might. Can we take this into the corridor?"

As the two left the table, Ron sighed. "Oops..."

Outside, McCoy rounded on Kirk, the promised rant not long in coming. "Are you insane?"

"I will be if you don't start using some new vocabulary. A variety of insults couldn't hurt..."

"This isn't very damn funny," McCoy snapped. "Do you know what it was like; waiting to see what condition you would come back in?"

Kirk cast his mind back to the day before. "Some idea, yes, from what you told me afterwards."

"When are you ever going to stop pulling stunts like this?" McCoy demanded. "When are you going to realise that you don't have to prove yourself anymore?"

"I'm not trying to prove myself," Kirk bristled.

"Then what are you trying to do? I know you Jim; I've been with you from the very beginning. You're trying to prove that you can be trusted, that you're good enough for your position."

"How would almost getting myself killed help?" He retorted. "Whenever I get injured, it's in an attempt to save someone's life, not to satisfy my ego!"

"And how many times," McCoy persisted mercilessly, "was the help of the Captain necessary on those rescue missions?"

"I care about my crew!"

"I know, Jim... I know," McCoy conceded. "But you don't have to do it all the time. Especially here. You're not on the Enterprise, Jim."

"I know."

"Then let yourself step out of Captain Mode. Stop trying to take unnecessary risks."

"That's who I am, Bones." His mind cast back to the memory of almost driving a car off a cliff. "You know that."

"I'm only trying to stop you from getting killed."

"I understand, Bones," he said softly. "But I want to do this. I can't explain it...maybe it's just the exhilaration of the game, I don't know. But what I do know is that I will do it." He smiled ironically. "Carefully, of course."

McCoy sighed, shoulders sagging in defeat. "You better know what you're doing, Jim."

"I hope so too...but I've been in enough disasters to know how to take care of myself."

"Did any of them involve brooms?" McCoy asked wearily.

"...Almost."

McCoy snorted. "I'm so reassured."

"Just don't worry about me. It won't help."

McCoy shot him a look. "How can I _not_ worry about you? You're Jim Kirk!"

"...Fair point, although a bit too insulting," Kirk conceded with a grin. "So you're ok with this?"

"I guess I have no choice."

"You could always come along, you know," he suggested slyly. "To keep an eye on me."

"I might come and watch. _Someone _with real medical knowledge has to be there. Hocus Pocus won't work as well as good old fashioned hyposprays."

"You don't have any," Kirk pointed out.

"I have ways of getting them," McCoy joked. "You always say I'm pulling them out of thin air."

"True. Are you sure you won't consider coming?"

"I just said I would."

"I meant flying," Kirk grinned, knowing what sort of reaction he'd get.

"I'd sooner get my head stuck in an Aldeboron Shell-Mouth," McCoy snorted. "And they only open up once every ten years."

Kirk laughed. "As long as you're sure..."

"Trust me Jim, I'm sure."

"You don't know what you're missing..."

"Don't push your luck."

The doors to the Great Hall swung open with a slight creak and Harry, Ron and Hermione stepped out, chatting amiably on their way to the stair case.

"We're going to the library!" Ron shouted to the two officers as they stopped halfway up the staircase, having caught sight of them. "Hermione's doing a revision session."

"Which subject?" Kirk asked in interest, despite the fact that he was keeping up with all of his subjects so far.

"All of them," Hermione answered in fond exasperation. "We're starting with the homework they haven't done yet," she shot the boys a look, who had the good grace to look slightly ashamed, "then if we have time we'll move on to something else."

"So what do you say?" Ron asked. "Are you up for it?"

Kirk shrugged. "Of course. How about you, Bones?"

"I still haven't finished Professor Sprout's essay."

"That was due in yesterday," Hermione reminded him.

"All the more reason for me to do it now..." McCoy muttered.

"He's always been hopeless with deadlines," Kirk said cheerfully as they caught up with the others on the stairs and carried on walking. "But he's improving. Last time I checked, his report was only a week late..."

"Sick Bay gets busy, Jim. It's not like other jobs where you can just stop working at the end of your shift; my patients need care."

"I've always wondered," Ron said suddenly, "what Muggle medicine is like. Only my Dad keeps getting mixed up with the different equipment and these two don't know much about it."

"We're not doctors, Ron," Harry joked.

"You should be," the other boy shot back, smiling.

"Do you want to hear about _our_ medicine or the Muggle medicine in this era?" McCoy asked.

"The one now, I s'pose. Maybe I'll even be able to use it," he said, waggling his eyebrows jokingly.

Hermione shook her head in fond exasperation. "Unless you want to cut people up, that won't be likely."

Ron paled noticeably. "You people cut your patients up?"

"I don't," McCoy said slightly defensively. "My ancestors did. Modern...I mean, future, for you, medicine has progressed beyond that."

Ron wasn't listening. "Why, in the name of Merlin's baggy Y-fronts, would you cut people up?" Kirk snorted at that. "What?"

"Merlin's baggy Y-fronts?" McCoy repeated when Kirk seemed to have slight trouble formulating a reply. "People actually say that?"

"Of course they do!"

"It's wizard swearing," Harry explained.

"They're popular expressions," Ron continued. "What else would we say?"

"True," Kirk conceded with a grin. "We've just never heard that before."

"Mental," Ron muttered. "Cutting up people..."

"They have to operate somehow, Ron, if they can't use magic," Hermione pointed out.

"Yeah..." he crinkled his nose, "but you'd think it would do more harm than good."

"Sometimes," McCoy admitted, "because the methods weren't perfected until many years later there were some deaths, yes. But there were also many that were successful."

"What do you do now, then?" Hermione asked, clearly interested.

"I use a laser scalpel."

"A _laser scalpel_?" Ron sputtered. "Merlin's beard! This sounds like something out of that Muggle series..." he appeared to search for the name. "Bar Floors."

"Star Wars," Harry corrected with a grin.

"Oh yeah..." Ron said vaguely.

"How do they work?" Hermione asked, ignoring the science fiction references completely.

"Basically," McCoy explained, deftly dodging the trick step in the stairs, "it is a more precise and sterile scalpel. It heals more quickly as well, since the cuts it makes are thinner and can be patched up with a tissue regenerator."

"You have technology to grow back tissue?" Hermione continued in complete disbelief.

McCoy nodded. "It took decades of experimentation and many new models but we finally have one that works on most species."

"What about the other species?" Harry asked.

"They usually have their own technology. We have some aboard Federation Star Ships, but not many. The Admiralty is working on fixing that, since the crews of our ships are becoming more integrated."

"Blimey," Ron muttered. "Muggles are mental."

"We're not mental," Kirk said with a knowing grin. "Eccentric maybe..." He glanced at McCoy.

"I'm not helping you on this one, Jim. If you want to call yourself eccentric, I'm not disagreeing."

They arrived at the library, a large room filled to the brim with books on magic and magical creatures or plants. Through another door was a restricted section, but from the barely touched aura of it, it appeared as though not many students or even professors generally ventured into its depths. Even the books looked sinister, and they did not exactly want to guess what could be inside them.

Plonking their bags on the table nearest to them, the group settled down to what promised to be a long and infuriating homework session, with a cram revision lesson added onto the end for good measure. Hermione for her part appeared to be fairly calm, having already learned the majority of what they were going to cover.

"What do you want to start with?" She asked patiently when they'd finished their essays and she'd checked them.

"The basics?" McCoy suggested. "I don't know any of it..."

"Neither do we," Harry muttered glumly.

"You've been here for five years," Kirk pointed out.

Hermione shook her head. "They know more than they think they do."

"I really don't think so," Ron replied. "How about revising basic potions?"

"Which part?"

"All of it?" Ron asked hopefully.

Hermione sighed. "You have to start from somewhere, Ron."

Kirk, who had been flicking through his Potions book, looked up hopefully. "How about Polyjuice potion?"

"We know how to do that," Harry grumbled.

"But they don't," Hermione pointed out. "Maybe you could finish your other essays while I explain this to them, then I'll check them over for you?"

Ron opened his mouth to argue but seemed to think better of it. He soon joined Harry in reading silently through their textbooks, occasionally scribbling sentences onto ominously long pieces of parchment. Hermione gazed at them in fond exasperation for a moment before turning back to the two Star Fleet officers.

"Polyjuice potion," she began, "is used to assume the identity of someone else." She glanced from one man to the other. "Maybe you should make notes?" She suggested.

"I don't normally make notes," Kirk protested, "I usually remember it straight away..." he trailed off at her glare. "Alright..." Kirk muttered, hunting around in his bag for a quill. McCoy rolled his eyes and dipped his own quill into a bottle of ink, which sat patiently on the table in front of him.

"It's rather complicated," she continued once Kirk's fidgeting had died down and he sat in a reassuringly alert position, "but Harry, Ron and I have managed to brew it a few times."

Ron looked up from his parchment and snorted. "Hermione didn't enjoy her first go," he said, grinning at the memory.

"Ron," she hissed, blushing bright red.

"Why?" Kirk asked curiously. "What happened?"

"She got in touch with her inner cat," Harry explained in amusement.

"That wasn't funny," Hermione said emphatically, ears burning. "It was an accident, anyway. Which brings me to my second point," she said smoothly, interrupting what would have been a scathing comment from Ron, "which is that it can't be used for a human to take on animal form or vice versa."

"Harry just said you turned into a cat," McCoy pointed out. Hermione's frown deepened to worrying levels.

"Not all the way," she said sharply. "Now, I'm sure you'll want to know the ingredients..."

"What do you mean, 'not all the way'?" McCoy interrupted.

"How can you be part cat?" Kirk added, smile widening.

"I dunno," Ron butted in, "but she found a way."

Hermione rounded on him. "Do you want me to check your homework?"

"Sorry..." Ron muttered, burying his head once more in his book.

"As I was saying," she continued, in what had by now become a flustered voice, "the ingredients will be useful to you. It's a rather complicated and lengthy process, though," she warned them.

"First of all," she continued when they did not object, "you need 12 lacewing flies that have been stewed for 21 days."

"Where, exactly," McCoy asked in resignation, "would we find them?"

"Magical Menagerie. You have to catch them yourself."

"Doesn't the shopkeeper do that?" The surgeon asked irritably.

"They can't. Now," she said swiftly, determined to actually finish her impromptu lesson, "you also need one ounce of crude Antimony, 4 leeches that..."

"Wait," Kirk interrupted, scribbling furiously, "what came after 'crude anatomy'?"

Hermione gaped and McCoy was barely stifling his amusement as he gently whacked Kirk over the head with a spare piece of parchment. "Not '_anatomy'_ Jim!"

"I was only joking..." Kirk's ears where beginning to turn a deep shade of red. At the other end of the table, the two boys were laughing hysterically.

"Antimony," Hermione repeated, stressing the word with a wide grin on her face, "is a chemical element; usually a white, crystalline solid."

"So not really your thing, Jim," McCoy smirked.

"Shut up, Bones."

"Anyway," Hermione added, ploughing on, "next you need 4 leeches which have been unsucculated..."

"Don't ask, Jim," McCoy drawled when Kirk looked up from his parchment.

"16 scruples of fluxweed which was picked at full moon..."

"_Fluxweed?_" McCoy repeated.

"Purple furry mint," Hermione explained briefly.

"And you guys actually _drink_ this?" Kirk asked, incredulously.

"Of course. How else would we change our appearance?"

"A mask?"

"Don't be stupid, Jim," McCoy snorted. "This is magic; nothing is ever that simple."

"Do you want me to carry on?" Hermione's patience, though developed through years of helping Harry and Ron with their homework, seemed to be wearing thin.

"Go ahead..." Kirk murmured, looking faintly squeamish as she continued to describe the ingredients.

"...shredded dried skin of a Boomslang," Hermione was continuing, but broke off to peer at Kirk in concern. "Are you alright?"

"'m fine..." Kirk mumbled, looking anything but.

"Damn it Jim, you've heard worse than this!"

"Yeah...but I've never had to think about drinking it!"

McCoy rolled his eyes in exasperation. "You don't have to drink it!"

"Thankfully," Kirk quipped, his colour beginning to return slightly as he smiled weakly, "because if I did I'd probably be allergic to it, and you'd use the opportunity to go hypo-insane."

"It's not my fault you have the worst immune system in the solar system," McCoy shot back. "Maybe if you didn't, I wouldn't actually have to _use_ my hypos on just you, and my other patients would get a look in!"

Kirk chuckled. "You'd never be able to give up attacking me, Bones. Face it."

"Well..." McCoy conceded, "it _is_ funny..."

"There is one more ingredient," Hermione reminded them. "An Extract of The-Transfigured-Being-To-Be."

"Which is what, exactly?" Kirk asked.

"Usually, it's hair."

"Which is how Hermione ended up as a cat," Ron interjected helpfully.

"RON!"

"Sorry..." Ron muttered, obediently returning to his not much longer essay.

"You drink hair?" Kirk's voice was ominously level.

"Technically," Hermione began, "it dissolves into the potion-"

"You drink hair!" Kirk repeated, slightly louder. Everyone turned to stare at them.

"This is a _library_," an irate looking woman whispered frantically.

"Sorry," Kirk said back, giving everyone in the room a nod before leaning forwards again and transforming his voice to a whisper. "_Why would you make yourself drink all of that?_ It sounds worse than what Bones tries to give me."

"Thanks a lot, Jim."

"We have no choice," Hermione explained patiently. "If the situation is desperate enough, you have to drink it."

"Yeah," Ron added. "We had to...and it tasted terrible."

"Ron, I don't think you're helping," Harry said gently when Kirk began turning a deeper shade of green.

"Oh...maybe you should get some air, mate?" Ron suggested, sympathy written across his face.

"Come on Jim," McCoy sighed, used to this type of reaction from all his numerous experiences of Kirk's allergies, "they won't like it if you throw up on their work..."

"Too late," Harry sighed as his essay was destroyed.

"Evanesco," Hermione said immediately, and the sickly looking pool of liquid vanished.

"Looks like you'll have to miss your dinner, Jim."

"Great," Kirk groaned.

"Dinner?" Harry asked, looking slightly alarmed. "What time is it?"

"Ten past seven," McCoy answered.

"_Harry!"_ Hermione's voice was so urgent that it rang clearly through the room.

"You're in a library!" The irate woman repeated fiercely, jabbing a quill violently in the direction of a sign.

"You're late for Umbridge!"

"Merlin's beard," Ron whispered in empathy, "she's going to kill you!"

"And Spock," Kirk added quietly, still looking unsteady.

"He hasn't been around all day..." McCoy said, glancing around the room as though he suddenly expected the Vulcan to appear.

Coincidentally, he did. McCoy's mouth gaped. "Speak of the devil...what happened to you?"

The Vulcan in question came to a halt in front of the table, folding his hands behind his back naturally and raising an eyebrow, looking completely at ease despite the fact that he was soaked to the bone and causing a rather large puddle to form beneath him. A snail-like trail of liquid marked his progress into the room, and the librarian was eying it furiously.

Spock's eyes, from within a soaked, angular face and beneath a mane of what was now damp, sticking up hair, twinkled in faint amusement at McCoy's reaction. His skin was paler than usual due to what was probably, for a Vulcan at least, the sub- zero temperatures outside.

Yet, when he finally replied, his voice was as even as always. "That is none of your concern, Doctor."

McCoy bristled. "Then what are you doing _here_?"

"I am meeting you in the library, Doctor."

"Why?" Ron asked bluntly.

"You're soaking wet," Kirk added, his nausea now almost completely forgotten.

Spock looked down at himself briefly. "Yes, it would appear so," he said with slight sarcasm. "My compliments on your insight, Captain."

"A wet and sarcastic Vulcan..." McCoy drawled. "Not exactly normal behaviour for you, is it? What's going on?"

"Doctor, I hardly have time to discuss my activities at this moment."

"Then why did you come here? You're already ten minutes late for Umbridge!"

"Eleven point five, Doctor," Spock corrected.

McCoy spluttered for a moment. "Don't change the subject!"

"I came here," Spock explained after a brief sigh, "because Mr Potter is late for his detention. As I too am not punctual, I believed it prudent to retrieve him."

"How did you know I was late?" Harry asked.

Spock stiffened for a moment. "I saw you." Before anyone could even think to respond, he had glided out of the room, leaving a trail of water and very angry librarian in his wake.

Harry offered his friends a brief apologetic smile before hurrying after the swift Vulcan. "How did you see me?"

"That is none of your concern," Spock said simply as they arrived outside Umbridge's room.

"Why not?" Harry demanded angrily. "I'm involved."

Spock simply raised an eyebrow and strode into the room, standing to attention in front of Umbridge's desk. Harry, by contrast, stalked in angrily, taking in the appearance of the pink, frill covered room with distaste. There was one too many cats for his liking. It reminded him of Mrs Figg's house.

"You're both late," Umbridge said with ominous sweetness, glancing up from her parchment and then looking straight back down. She paused, her hand hovering over the ink bottle. She slowly lifted her eyes upwards again, her stare lingering on Spock's obviously disheveled appearance.

"Sorry," Harry said, not sounding at all sorry. He was too busy watching this exchange in morbid fascination.

"Hem hem..." Umbridge cleared her throat nervously, mouth going slightly mushy around the edges as she struggled to look away from Spock. Astonishingly, she began to blush. "Take a seat please."

Dubiously, they each sat behind a desk, next to each other. Umbridge shook her head and gestured to Spock. "Oh no, dear. You sit here." She pointed at a sole table which was slightly closer to the teacher's desk. "So that I can keep an eye on you." She smiled sweetly as Spock warily sat down, wondering why she had suddenly gone back to acting mushy around him after their last argument.

Clearing her throat once more, she sashayed over to her desk and opened a drawer, handing Harry a quill but for the moment ignoring Spock. "You may write with this. Mr Potter, I want you to write 'I must not tell lies'."

"How many times?" The boy asked in annoyance, getting out a sheet of parchment.

"As long as it takes to sink in," the Professor replied, showing her teeth.

Harry obediently lowered his quill to the parchment, but stopped at the last second. "You haven't given me any ink, Professor."

Umbridge, who had been standing behind Harry and gazing at the front of the room where Spock was currently waiting for instructions, started out of her reverie. "I beg your pardon?"

"You haven't given me any ink, Professor." He repeated his statement, trying not to sound horrified or amused.

"Oh, so silly of me," she simpered. "I forgot to explain that you don't _need_ ink, dear."

"I can't write without ink."

Her eyes flashed suddenly, but her grin remained firmly in place. "Are you a professor at this school, Mr Potter?"

"No, but-"

"Then you do not tell me how to do my job," she said sweetly. "Carry on. 'I must not tell lies'."

Harry reluctantly lowered his hand to the parchment, wondering how he could possibly write his lines when clearly he had nothing to write with. Not that Umbridge seemed concerned about that, however. She seemed content just to loom over him as much as she was able with her limited height, a shark grin glittering beneath her nose.

He sighed and grudgingly began to write; noticing as he did that the words began to form on the parchment in ominously clear red liquid. Frowning as he felt a slight prickle in his other hand, he once again lowered his quill onto the parchment, writing another line in his messy scrawl.

This time, the stab of pain was considerably bigger and he just about managed to stifle his gasp. In front of him, Spock looked around curiously, but for the moment did not say anything. Umbridge continued to smile toadishly at them both. He glanced briefly at his hand, his brow furrowed as he noticed signs of injury there. Umbridge silently urged him to carry on and, feeling a brief flicker of despair, he lowered his quill to the parchment.

The next line forced a small cry of pain from Harry's lips and Umbridge finally moved, leaning forward to pick up his hand and examine it with a curious smile. "You're well on your way to learning your lesson, Mr Potter." She released the aching hand and stepped back. "Continue."

Spock was contemplating Harry's hand from his position at the front of the classroom. "Professor, may I ask why you are forcing him to write with apparatus which carves words into his hand?"

"It has more effect on the students."

Spock watched her with an unfathomable look deep in his eyes. "Surely such a method of punishment is illegal in this establishment."

"What Dumbledore doesn't know can't hurt him; can it now, Mr Spock?"

"It's sadistic!" Harry blurted out suddenly. "If he found out about this-"

Umbridge tittered. "He won't, Mr Potter."

"But-"

"So silly of me, but it _sounds_ as though you're questioning my authority." Her eyes glittered. "Hmm?"

"I believe that his concern is justified," Spock butted in. "Perhaps you would care to explain how such an instrument works?"

She seemed to consider for a moment, apparently trying to decide whether or not she wished to enjoy taunting them with the secret of the quills, or to see their disgusted expressions. She seemed to decide on the latter. "I suppose that understanding your lesson will help you learn it," she conceded at last. "This quill writes, as Mr Potter has recently discovered, in the blood of the person holding it. The words appear on their hand, to remind them of the lesson."

Spock raised his eyebrows. "That is a needless infliction of pain."

"Yet how else can we learn?" She simpered. "When a child burns himself, he learns not to put his hand in the fire."

"The situations are hardly similar," the Vulcan pointed out.

"Well, I hardly expect you to understand, dear." Her voice was girlish and high, but she looked down her nose at him.

"Indeed?"

"Yes. You see... creatures of almost human intelligence can't possibly hope to understand the way of wizards."

Harry's head, from his position behind Spock, snapped up, but he was largely ignored as Spock stared at Umbridge in slight disbelief. "I assure you that my levels of intelligence are likely higher than yours."

She recoiled as though slapped, all previous humour gone from her expression. "How dare you insult me?"

"It was not an insult," Spock said simply, "merely a statement of fact."

"You are a half breed, a creature of lower intelligence," Umbridge said dismissively. Behind Spock, Harry's eyes widened. "Oh don't look so surprised, Potter," she snapped. "It's there for anyone to see. He is too tall to be an elf, yet he has their ears."

"That is correct, I am a hybrid. I am not however, an elf as I have previously informed you."

"But," Harry suddenly interrupted, "you said you were Vulcan. You never mentioned being half of anything else."

"I did not believe that information to be relevant, as I was educated in a Vulcan environment. I therefore consider myself to be Vulcan."

Umbridge chuckled derisively. "He didn't want to reveal himself," she told Harry. "Half breeds are notorious for their deception." She glared at Spock in contempt. "And he is a Slytherin half breed, no less."

"That does not logically dictate a deceitful nature," Spock countered. "Vulcan upbringing does not permit lying."

Umbridge waved her hand dismissively. "So silly of me, but it sounds as though you are arguing with me."

"How astute," Spock remarked. Harry tried to hide a grin.

Obviously, he had failed because Umbridge rounded on him, shaking like an enraged bowlful of pudding. "Back to work, Mr Potter." She snapped her attention back to Spock. "I will make a deal with you, Mr Spock," she all but spat in an atypical show of anger, "do your lines, and you will avoid further punishment."

"Very well," Spock conceded. "However, I would advise you to refrain from derogatory remarks on my heritage."

"As you are not a professor at this school, or even someone of respectable status, I don't see how threatening me will help your case," she said slowly, as if talking to a child.

Spock ignored that comment, his ever logical side allowing him to rise above the insult. "Perhaps you would explain what you expect me to do?"

"I expect you to write 'I must keep my place' with this quill," she said softly, handing him the quill, "for impertinently challenging me in front of the class."

"I will not."

Her eyes glittered. "Why?" She demanded ominously, all facade of tittering girlishness long since gone.

"My challenge was justified. Refusing to acknowledge the return of Voldemort is highly illogical."

"You will not speak his name!"

"It's just a name," Harry said in exasperation. "It won't kill you."

"Back to your lines, Mr Potter," Umbridge all but hissed. She turned back to Spock with an air of triumph. "You have earned yourself detention for the rest of the week, _Mr_ Spock, for failing to recognise superior authority."

Spock, if he were human, would have smirked at this moment. "Highly irrational."

Umbridge reddened, and Harry, from his position at the back of the classroom, was suddenly glad that he was sharing his detention with such an interesting Slytherin.

"Back to work," she finally snarled at them both. "There will be no further need to talk."

It was with a sense of anger that Harry resumed writing his lines, trying his very best to ignore the sharp stabbing pain which was now developing in the back of his other hand. Red ink continued to flow across the page, the words glittering maliciously in the light of the room.

From behind her desk, Umbridge had looked up to check on her students' progress, and stopped dead. Slowly levering herself, with some difficulty, Harry noticed with a smirk, into a standing position, she moved over to Spock's desk.

"What is this?"

"That," Spock replied with just a hint too much of sarcasm for a Vulcan, "would appear to be a collection of parchment, magical quill, and blood."

"Blood?"

Spock's eyebrows rose. "You have stated that the quill is designed to cause the user to write in their own blood?"

"Yes."

"Then would it not be logical to assume that this is in fact my blood?"

"It shouldn't be..." Umbridge, muttered, staring at it, transfixed. Harry craned his neck to look at Spock's parchment, and was astonished to see green writing there.

"I believe that I recognise my own blood, Professor," Spock said coolly.

Umbridge looked at him with disdain. "It's _green_."

"Obviously."

She sneered at him. "You fit your house in every way." She leaned forwards. "You're green to the very core."

His eyebrows shot up wryly at the mention of the word 'core'. "I see no reason to liken me to a fruit."

Harry snorted at this and Umbridge rounded on him. "Back to work, Mr Potter!" She turned back to Spock quickly. "The same for you," she said in a loud, slow voice.

"I assure you that I have no difficulty in hearing."

Umbridge smirked. "I suppose not, with oversized ears like that." There was an ominous silence. "Carry on," she simpered in triumph.

oOo

The detention passed much quicker than expected, in Harry's opinion. Every now and then, he would hear Umbridge make a scathing remark to Spock as she bent over his parchment to supervise. Harry would then desperately hide a grin as the sharp Vulcan deflected her comments, sending even worse insults back in her direction. All with a dispassionate expression and logical vocabulary, of course.

By the time that they were freed from her unbearably pink room, Umbridge was seething visibly, her hair coming out of its impeccable style. Her smile was gone and apparently not likely to return soon, which was quite a feat considering the fact that it usually seemed to be permanently in place. Her voice was low and weary as she verbally kicked them out of the door, a sharp and satisfying contrast to her habitual high pitched squeals.

As they hurried through the corridors on their way back to their respective common rooms, Harry could not help but consider the man beside him. He was no ordinary Slytherin; that much was certain, since he was actually willing to defend students and their cause when he deemed it necessary. He'd also forced Malfoy to stop what would have rapidly deteriorated into a sparring match between Harry, Ron and Malfoy, although Harry was uncertain how much of this was due to McGongall's unmistakeable presence on the scene.

Although he frequently insulted McCoy, the Doctor never seemed to get truly angry, although Harry was certain that this was largely due to the fact that they were both used to such discussions...or maybe they both hated each other. It was hard to tell. Kirk, on the other hand, never stepped in unless absolutely necessary and he was the only one that seemed to be immune to the stinging effect of the Vulcan's remarks. The relationship between the three was a complete mystery to Harry, who did not understand how three people with such different personalities could stand to be in the same room for more than a few minutes, let alone on the same space ship for an even longer amount of time. Maybe, with time, he would be able to discover the secret behind it.

"Mr Potter," the subject of his thoughts was suddenly saying, "may I ask why you are currently accompanying me to the Slytherin common room?"

Harry blinked and peered around him. Sure enough, the unmistakable door loomed before him, and he felt his ears burning in slight embarrassment. "I must have been lost in thought..."

"Indeed."

As the Vulcan turned to open the door, Harry could not help himself from blurting; "you spoke his name."

"Whose name, Mr Potter?"

"Voldemort's."

Spock nodded. "Affirmative." He peered at Harry for a moment. "Is there some significance to this action?"

"People generally don't want to say it," he explained ruefully. "They're afraid."

"Fear of a name is not logical."

Harry stared at the man for a brief moment. "Spock, can I ask you something?" At the brief nod, he continued, curiosity shining through his eyes, "why do you always mention logic?"

"Has this not yet been explained to you?"

"I don't think so," Harry said.

Spock nodded slightly. "It is the Vulcan way," he explained. "After superfluous violence in Vulcan's past, a scholar named Surak suggested that we adopt a more logical view of life, in order to avoid the emotional destruction of our world."

"It was that bad?" Harry asked disbelievingly, for a moment forgetting the hatred that he had previously felt towards the Vulcan. This topic was clearly a difficult one, especially after the death of his home world. Looking into Spock's bleak eyes, he suddenly realised that perhaps the man before him had more emotion and understanding than he let on.

Spock nodded. "We were violent, unreasonable. Vulcan emotions are much stronger than those of humans and much more destructive. If they had remained, we would have surely caused our own extinction. Surak provided a way to control ourselves and to preserve our race." His eyes took on a haunted quality as he was momentarily transported back to his home world. "The thesis has proven successful, and has become an integrated part of our culture, our way of life. We know no other way." He blinked slightly and seemed to return to the present.

Harry, meanwhile, was struggling to understand how this could be possible. "How do you do it? How do you keep all of your emotions under control like that?"

"It requires a lifetime of training. Children are instructed in this practice from a very early age."

"You've always had to act like this?"

"Affirmative."

He still could not believe that people could actually do that to themselves, that they could shut themselves away like that. "Don't you ever want to...explode?"

"That would be extremely detrimental to my health."

Harry grinned slightly, beginning to realise why Kirk seemed so amused in this Vulcan's company. "Don't you ever want to spew?" He floundered for a moment as the man before him gained a confused air. "Let out your emotions?" He suggested finally.

"I cannot."

"What if you can't help it?" Harry continued, not satisfied with this answer. "Don't you ever...lose control?"

The haunted look returned to Spock's eyes and he nodded, suddenly looking uncomfortable at the personal turn in this conversation. "Occasionally. Unfortunately, as a half human, I find it more difficult to maintain control."

"I find it hard to believe that," Harry said gently. He was unsure if this would actually help to reassure the Vulcan or not. Truth be told, he wasn't sure _why_ he was trying to reassure him. They weren't even remotely close.

The Vulcan mask had once again hidden all previous signs of emotion. His eyes flickered briefly to the dormitory door. "Surely, Mr Potter, you must return to your own common room?"

"Yeah..." He'd completely forgotten about that, and the revelation surprised him.

Spock nodded politely in Harry's direction. "In that case, I believe that 'good evening' is the customary farewell."

"Yeah..." he said distractedly, "see you tomorrow."

It was only when he was climbing up the stairs towards the Gryffindor common room that he realised what he had just done. Shaking his head, he ignored the pulsing ache in his hand and gave the password, stepping through the portrait when it swung forwards.

He had just _chatted_ with a Slytherin, he thought ruefully, wondering what the world was coming to.


	10. Interrogations and Intrusions

**10. Interrogations and Intrusions.**

_Meanwhile, on the Enterprise: _

"How," Admiral Thompson was demanding, spraying spittle all over the screen, "did you lose the three most senior officers of the ship?"

"I did nae lose them, Admiral," Scott repeated for what felt like the tenth time that day. Already, he'd spoken to at least five admirals and their officials, all of whom had asked the same questions.

"It certainly looks that way to me!"

"Uh...Mister Scott?" Uhura asked tentatively from her station.

"Yes, Lieutenant?"

"I have another admiral on the line, sir. He wants to speak with you."

"Tell him to call back," Thompson spat angrily. "I'm dealing with your Commander right now."

Scott fixed the man with a weary glare. "With all due respect, Admiral, it would be quicker to join transmissions."

"This is hardly a public matter!"

Scott sighed in barely veiled exasperation. "He's probably calling for the same reason, sir."

Thompson grumbled a bit more, but it was clear that he could not find another excuse. "Very well. You may put him on, Lieutenant."

The concerned face of Admiral Pike immediately filled the screen. "Mister Scott, what happened?"

"This _blockhead_," Thompson barked, interrupting Scott's explanation, "lost the three most senior officers aboard his ship!"

Pike faced his co-worker with practiced patience. "I know Jack. I just want to know how it happened."

"You're not going to get a very clear answer out of him," Thompson snorted, glaring at Scott. "He's completely incompetent. He hasn't even tried to explain himself."

"Ye have nae given me a _chance_ sir," Scott said with as much tolerance as he could muster, trying to stamp down on the anger bubbling within him.

Thompson snorted but Pike calmly turned back to face the Bridge crew. "How exactly did it happen, Mister Scott?"

With a practice born of having to recount the same tale many times over, he relayed the situation step by step, including every single piece of information, no matter how insignificant it appeared to be. With each utterance, Pike's face darkened into the very picture of seriousness, even while Thompson's reddened unbelievably. When he had finally finished, there were a few beats of silence.

"Well..." Thompson finally muttered, "how convenient."

"I beg yer pardon, sir?" Scott asked, angrily.

"With those three out of the way, you have command. Isn't that what you've always wanted?"

Scott's brow furrowed in a mixture of anger and bewilderment. "No, sir. I have never wanted command."

Thompson snorted. "Really? Not even after all those years on Delta Vega?"

"No, sir," Scott snarled, thoroughly annoyed now. "Never."

"Jack," Pike said wearily, "we would get a lot more done if you didn't insist on accusing everybody every time an officer went missing!"

"These aren't just any officers!" Thompson spluttered, looking slightly deranged. "They're some of the best in the Fleet!"

"That doesn't mean that Mister Scott is responsible," Pike replied fairly. "It could have been anyone."

Thompson seemed to mull this over for a moment. "Are you suggesting that there is a spy in our midst, Pike?"

"That's one possible conclusion, yes."

"And if it were Mister Scott?"

"I did nae do anything!" Scott said angrily.

"It's not likely, Jack."

"Anything's possible," Thompson countered.

"Mister Scott would never pull a stunt like this."

"Exactly!" Thompson crowed.

"I do nae follow you, sir," Scott butted in.

"He's the least likely to do it, so he must be the culprit!"

"Don't be absurd, Jack." Pike snapped, apparently having come to the end of his temper. He glanced in Scott's direction. "It looks as though I'll have to call you back later, Mister Scott. Jack, I think I need to have a talk with you in my office..."

Scowling, Thompson cut off his end of the transmission and Pike sighed, turning to the Bridge. "Do your best to find them, Mister Scott. I'll handle Admiral Thompson."

"Aye sir," Scott replied grimly. The transmission cut and Scott sighed, leaning back in the chair which should not have been his.

"That was ridiculous," the Lieutenant at Spock's science station scoffed with his back to the console.

"I know, lad."

"Vat are you going to do, Mister Scott?" Chekov asked, staring at the new Captain with wide eyed innocence.

Scott sighed again and raked his hand through his hair. "Try scanning for any transporter residue," he finally instructed the man at the science station. "It's possible that they were taken by technology we have nae seen before."

"Aye sir."

"Meanwhile," he continued, facing Chekov once more, "I'm going tae interrogate the prisoners. Mister Sulu, you have the con. Call me if anything even remotely suspicious happens."

"Aye sir," the helmsman replied.

In one fluid motion, Scott stood, immensely relieved to be out of the comfortable chair. It felt wrong to sit in it, as though he was not supposed to be there which, technically speaking, he wasn't. That chair belonged to the only person ever to win a victory in it; Captain Kirk. He had earned its comfort and its privileges, not him. He was just the engineer, no matter how many times he had saved the ship from falling to pieces. His achievements would be worth nothing if it had not been for that man on the Bridge, keeping the crew together so that Mr Scott could do his job.

The Bridge had felt like a barren void without the three officers there, their commanding presence gone. Grim faces had surrounded him as he had sat there, giving orders which felt alien coming from his mouth. Different faces had peered back at him, instead of the ones from engineering. He did not belong up there, he belonged with the engines.

In short, they needed the Captain back.

Sighing in what was becoming a familiar motion; he slowed down the turbolift, listening with a trained ear to its slight whining as it ground to a halt. That would need fixing later. The doors slid open smoothly and he stepped into the bustling corridor, allowing the pulsing life of the Enterprise to sweep comfortingly past him for several moments as he just stood there, taking it all in.

They were a fantastic crew; always prepared and ready to do their jobs, always struggling on even when faced with certain defeat. Their morale might be low after the strange occurrences of a few hours ago, but they were keeping their work standards high. They knew that it was the only way to find the missing crewmen.

Closing his eyes in an attempt to gather together his last few strands of calm, he began to walk forwards, sending Ensigns and Lieutenants alike scattering from his determined path. His mouth had settled into an unfamiliarly grim and serious line as he stalked through the decks, occasionally telling an engineering crewman to stop using the wrong tool. He shook his head in despair. They were fantastic engineers, but they never learned how to take care of his lady with the passion that he did.

Bypassing the queues for the turbolifts and opting to go down the ladder instead, he could feel a throbbing starting up just behind his eyes, sending small spasms of pain rippling across his head with each heartbeat. He needed a drink. Yet he knew that getting one was not an option; he had a new responsibility to this crew and ship, one that he could not simply give up for his own personal comfort. Until the Captain was found, he was in charge and he was going to make the best job of it that he could, even if he didn't want to.

He'd just have to find another way of getting rid of that headache.

Reaching the end of the ladder at long last, he ducked skilfully past an open control panel and jumped to the floor. Frowning back at the way he had come, he straightened his uniform and searched the corridor for any sign of an engineer.

"Ensign!" He called, when he saw one lounging at the end of the corridor, "What do ye think ye're doing?"

The young man immediately snapped to attention, but he could not hide the mug that was in his hand. "I was...taking a small break, sir."

"Ye do nae leave a control panel lying open, laddie!"

The man gulped visibly, unused to the Engineer's wrath. "I...was going to go back to it soon, sir."

Scott shook his head. "Alright," he finally conceded.

The man blinked in surprise. "Sir?"

"I said alright, lad." He lifted a finger into the air and thrust it into the other man's face. "But if I catch ye doing that again..." he let the threat trail away ominously.

"Of course sir, I understand, sir." He scurried away, abandoning his coffee mug on a small ledge.

"And Ensign?"

The man warily turned back to face him, "Yes sir?"

"The same goes fer yer coffee mugs," he suddenly found himself grinning slightly. "Would nae want the prisoners to escape and trip over it now, would we?"

The Ensign grinned in slight relief. "No sir."

Shaking his head slightly, Scott carried on down the corridor, the brief signs of a good mood abruptly disappearing as he reached the security desk. The young woman behind it immediately stood to attention with a quick 'sir!' Scott waved her impatiently into an at ease posture. He had never been comfortable with military procedure, least of all when it was directed at him.

"Any trouble so far, Ensign?"

"No sir," she replied wearily, "except for the usual screamed threats."

Scott smiled back at her wryly. After many of these missions, he could sympathise. "No escape attempts?"

"No sir. We've got them locked in there tightly."

He nodded his approval. "Good tae hear." He jerked his head at the force field which blocked off the rest of the corridor. "Could ye de-activate that?"

"Yes sir," she said, quickly rushing to comply, her fingers flying over her keyboard. The field shimmered for a moment and then disappeared with a small sound. "There you go sir."

"Thank ye." He gave her a brief nod and then continued down the corridor. "Put it back up."

She frowned at him. "But, sir...if you get attacked-"

"That is an order, Ensign. Put the shield back up. These people are dangerous."

She grudgingly complied. "Shall I have a security detail come up, sir?"

Scott mulled it over silently for a moment. On the one hand, he did not want to drag them away from whatever repair or investigation work they were doing, since it was imperative that they get back on track. Yet on the other hand, he could not deny that if he got attacked by the prisoners, although he considered that unlikely, it couldn't hurt to have a few security guards standing by to stop the prisoners if they got past him.

"Alright," he finally replied. "Have five of Giotto's choice come up, armed with phasers on stun."

She looked immensely relieved. "Aye sir."

Turning his back on her as she fulfilled those commands, he walked down to the end of the corridor to the only cell with an active force field shimmering before it. All three of the prisoners had been placed in the same room, although he was beginning to wonder if that was a good idea as they heard him coming and the yelled threats and insults picked up once again.

"FILTHY MUGGLES!" The woman was screeching, throwing herself at the force field with deranged abandon. "HOW DARE YOU DO THIS TO PURE BLOODS!"

Scott rolled his eyes at her as he came to a stop in front of their room. "Oh, shut it," he snapped.

She recoiled. "You DARE to order me?" She drew herself up to her full height, glaring imperiously at him. "I am one of the most trusted servants of the Dark Lord! You have no right to-"

"I have every right!" Scott countered, speaking over the top of her outrage. "Ye are nae welcome aboard this ship, and unless ye tell me why ye're here, ye'll have a very long stay in a prison cell."

The pale man's lip curled as he rose from his place at the back of the cell. "We will be freed. My Death Eaters are loyal."

"Oh really?" Scott answered, bouncing on his toes slightly. "How do ye think they'll reach ye in space?"

"Their magic has no limits," the man with black hair snapped.

"Magic does nae exist," Scott said slowly, emphasising his point with a jabbing finger back in the direction of the Bridge. "Yer sticks did nothing!"

"They are not 'sticks'," a blond haired man snarled.

"Do not allow him to provoke you, Lucius," the Lord commanded. "We will defeat him soon enough." His red eyes glowed with insanity. "When we do...I promise you revenge."

The man named Lucius smiled and bowed his head. "Of course, my Lord. I would be very grateful."

The Lord levelled his piercing gaze at Scott. "Why are you keeping us here? Surely you know we will escape."

"This cell is escape proof. There will be no chance of that."

The woman laughed shrilly. "He mocks us, my Lord!"

"I will take great pleasure in killing him, Bellatrix," the Lord agreed, "but I will reward your loyalty by giving you five minutes alone with him."

Bellatrix grinned. "I will relish it," she hissed, glaring at Scott.

Scott forced himself not to be intimidated. These people were lunatics; magic did not exist, they had seen that themselves when they had attempted to attack everyone on the Bridge. They could never escape, they would never hurt anyone unless they stole weapons. They were helpless.

Unfortunately, that prompted a few violent images to flicker through his mind. He ruthlessly pushed them away. Reflecting on what could happen would not help him. He needed to keep a clear head.

"Why are ye on my ship?" He finally demanded.

"I think," the Lord sneered in a high voice, "the real question is: why did _you_ bring us here?"

Scott snorted. "Do nae be ridiculous, man! Why would I bring ye here, lock you up, and ask ye why ye were here?"

"Everyone knows Muggles are strange," Bellatrix said, gliding over to the door frame and leaning against it, licking her bottom lip. "You are obviously no different."

He resisted the urge to shiver and kept eye contact with their leader. "Where are ye from?"

The Lord laughed; a high pitched, wailing sound. His red rimmed eyes narrowed as he threw back his head, his chest heaving in amusement.

"You really don't know anything, do you?" The young, black haired man asked in disgust.

"I didn't expect you to understand the ways of my world," the Lord finally said, a smirk lingering around his mouth, "but you have surpassed my expectations."

"Just answer the bloody question," Scott snapped.

He only cocked his head to the side. "Why can't we perform magic on your pitiful vessel?" He asked in a silken voice. "Have you placed charms around it?"

"Of course I haven't!" Scott said in annoyance. "How many times do I have to tell ye; magic does nae exist!"

"You would do well," the Lord hissed, moving his face as close to the force field as it would go, so that they were almost eye to eye, "to stop trying my patience."

"I'm doing my job," Scott snapped back. "Now answer my question."

The Dark Lord leaned his head back, away from the force field, so that he was looking at the ceiling. Scott resisted the urge to follow his gaze, instead keeping his eyes fixed on the prisoners' every movement.

"I am from Earth," he finally said.

Scott blinked. "Would ye be more specific?" Inwardly, he was surprised that they came from his home planet.

The man before him spread his pale hands. "I don't think I want to." His followers laughed.

"I can make this a lot harder for ye than it has tae be," Scott threatened.

Bellatrix sneered at him. "You wouldn't dare to hurt my Lord."

"If he does nae comply and answer my questions, I might have tae." He paused significantly to allow this point to sink in. "Where do ye come from on Earth?"

"I discuss my past with no one," the Lord said dismissively. "Those who do hear it...never live to tell the tale."

Scott rolled his eyes. "I'll ask ye that one later, if ye're going tae be stubborn," he finally said. "I do nae have all the time in the world."

Bellatrix laughed, the sound unhinged. "With magic, you would be the master of time. Let us go, and we can give it to you."

"Yeh've changed yer tune," Scott observed. "A minute ago ye were going tae kill me."

She laughed once more. "This Muggle learns faster than the others, my Lord." Her eyes were mocking him. "Though he is still undeniably stupid."

Scott was struggling not to allow them to provoke him. "Ye claim ye can perform magic on Earth?" He finally said in a conversational tone.

The Lord's eyes narrowed but it was the youngest, dark haired Death Eater that spoke. "We can do anything," he boasted.

His master rounded on him. "Quiet!" He snapped.

"My Lord?"

"He's probing you for information, don't you understand that?" Bellatrix added, "Or are you so young that your brains haven't finished growing?"

The man bristled. "I know what I'm doing!"

"Really?" Bellatrix sneered. "Then prove it."

"Will ye be _quiet_?" Scott all but roared suddenly, the throbbing in his temples becoming louder. Silence fell. "I'll be back tae question ye later," he warned. "Do nae think I've finished with ye."

With that, he spun on his heel, leaving a momentary stunned silence behind him as everyone tried to fathom why he had suddenly given up his questioning. Although, of course, it did not last for long.

"WHERE ARE YOU GOING, MUGGLE?" Bellatrix screeched joyously, "ARE YOU TOO INTIMIDATED?" She cackled derisively and Scott shut her out of his head angrily. He would not let her goad him.

The young woman at the desk hurriedly flipped switches and pressed buttons, getting the force field down once more a few seconds before he would have ploughed into it. He breezed past it without thought and it snapped up again, the woman giving him a worried stare.

"Is something wrong, sir?"

He didn't answer her question. "Let me know if they show any signs of co-operating," he instructed instead.

"Aye sir."

He barely heard her, already stalking down the corridor. He stormed up to the young engineer, who unsurprisingly was standing to the side of an open control panel, staring at it in annoyance.

"Is something wrong, laddie?"

The young man visibly jumped, almost dropping his tools. "Sir! I didn't know you were there..." he stammered, trailing off at the foreboding expression on the Chief Engineer's face. "Uh...no sir, nothing's wrong."

"Then why are ye staring at it? It will nae fix itself!"

"Uh...aye sir. I'll get back to it right away, sir, when I receive the tools."

"Ye should have a toolbox, lad," Scott snapped and immediately regretted it when the man stiffened, intimidated. He tried to soften his features slightly. "It makes the job a damn sight easier."

"Aye sir," the man muttered morosely, standing aside to let him past.

Scott attempted to smile at him. "Keep up the work, lad." Shaking his head at his own uncommon belligerence, he climbed into the shaft and began ascending the ladder, taking the opportunity to think.

Those prisoners were in a category of their own, he decided. They maintained despite everything that magic existed, in the face of all evidence. He supposed that perhaps he should be unnerved by that; maybe it was a warning sign of some unknown organisation, or perhaps a psychological condition. Whatever it was, he didn't know about it, and that annoyed him.

Worse still, Admiral Thompson had apparently gotten the idea that he was responsible for bringing these monsters onboard. He grabbed a rung of the ladder with particular viciousness. If he was responsible, he reasoned angrily to himself, then why would he be interrogating them? Why would he be drawing attention to the disappearance so soon after it happened? If he really was a spy trying to weaken the Federation, then he would immediately try to take over the ship, with the help of whatever allies he had.

He wasn't a spy, of course. He only had to convince Thompson of that.

He sighed. Sometimes he wondered how bureaucrats like him had managed to climb up the ranks, despite being so obviously incompetent and inexperienced. It was little wonder that Star Fleet was still trying to get itself organised after the attack on Vulcan. If they had more capable officers at the top...

Abruptly, he forced himself to stop that line of thought. Rebuilding was all that mattered, and any organisation would find it next to impossible.

Frowning, he raised a hand to his temples, stopping midway up the ladder as a sudden pulsing sensation shot through his head, heavier and more painful than any of the ones before. His vision blurred and for a moment he thought that he was going to lose consciousness, but as soon as it had come, it stopped, and he was left reeling in the aftermath.

Panting, he was sure that he could hear something whispering.

"_You'll never escape me..."_ Something suddenly hissed next to his ear. Shocked, he jerked around only to almost crash his face into a bulkhead. Something laughed. _"So afraid...so weak."_

"Who's there?" He asked, with as much of a level voice as he could muster when confronted with disembodied words.

Only a wordless laughter accompanied his question, bouncing off the bulkheads. The lights flickered and went out. The laughter escalated.

Heart leaping into his throat, he sprint-climbed up the remainder of the shaft, tripping over the edge when he reached the top and landing flat on his stomach on the deck. He lay there for a few moments, simply trying to catch his breath and work out what had just happened.

"Sir?" He started his eyes open. A pair of black standard issue boots were standing before him. "Are you alright, sir?"

He levered himself off the ground with some difficulty. His head felt like it was going to split open. "'M fine, lad." He staggered to his feet and did not notice the hand that steadied him in concern. "What happened down there?"

"We had some trouble with the lights," the Ensign replied. "We had to turn them off briefly to re-route the power..." he trailed off as he took in Scott's pale features. "If I'd have known anyone was in there..."

"Do nae worry yerself, lad," he said. His voice was falsely light. "Do ye know where that voice was coming from?"

The man's brow furrowed in even deeper concern. "Voice, sir?"

"I heard..." he trailed off at the positively alarmed and slightly wary look he was receiving from the Ensign. "Never mind. It must have been someone at the bottom of the shaft."

He received a nod in reply. "Probably, sir. I'm sorry for the inconvenience."

"It does nae matter, lad. Just try tae get it fixed." As he turned his back on the still darkened tunnel, he tried not to shiver.

That voice had been unmistakable; he recognised it. The face flickered briefly in front of his eyes as his mind automatically called up the memory.

It was impossible.


	11. Formulating a Plan

**11. Formulating a Plan. **

The professors of Hogwarts School sat around a wide table, grim expressions evident on all of their faces. They had been working almost tirelessly since the arrival of the strangers to find a way to send them back, although they had to juggle their teaching duties as well. As a result, they had not progressed nearly as far as they had originally hoped for, although technically they had only been researching the phenomenon for one school week.

Everyone was working hard to find a counter spell, feeling extremely conscious of the fact that if they failed, three people would be trapped in a universe in which they could not truly fit in. They had very little knowledge of magic, yet they also would not fit completely into the world of Muggles due to the fact that their knowledge of the wizarding world existed. Not to mention the fact that, according to what they had revealed to Dumbledore and Snape on the evening of their arrival, they also came from a future, alternate version of their universe.

Definitely not the sort of situation that anyone would want to be found in.

The only professor who actually opposed Dumbledore's regime of helping the strangers get back to their own time was of course Professor Umbridge, who had steadfastly refused to do any research, although she insisted upon attending every single staff meeting. She did not seem to notice the fact that she was clearly not welcome; the most important thing to her seemed to be to report back to the Ministry on happenings at the school. Apparently, Fudge was still suffering from paranoia on the consolidation of his power as Minister of Magic.

It was with all of this in mind that they had convened in an empty classroom; the last place that the students could expect to come looking for them. This way, they were less likely to be found, even by the most irritating attempts to find them. A few professors had, of course, been excused from this meeting due to the fact that they had to avoid arousing suspicion of the students as much as possible, and this role was alternated from meeting to meeting. This way, the teachers who were suddenly called away seemed to be sporadic and random enough in nature to convince the students that it was simply an education matter. Although it was possible that Potter and his friends would soon begin to suspect something; they were usually the first ones to sniff out a conspiracy, after all.

These thoughts were interrupted as Dumbledore strode into the room breezily, his demeanour definitely not showing the extent of his worry on the situation as he sat down in a comfortable armchair. All others present at the table looked towards him expectantly, the only exception being Umbridge who looked alternately amused by the entire fiasco, or worried for her superior's safety. She was just as paranoid as he was, and this was not something that was welcomed within the professor's community at Hogwarts. A school could not function in an environment where trust was eliminated, and she appeared to trust no one who obeyed Dumbledore.

The headmaster fixed those around the table with an apologetic smile, his blue eyes not quite reflecting the full amount of mirth that his mouth portrayed. "I'm sorry for my late arrival," he said simply, "I had some matters to attend to."

"That is quite alright, Headmaster," Umbridge answered, speaking above the general murmur of the room. "Although perhaps next time it would be a good idea to be on time for your own meetings? You can hardly expect us to wait here when there is so much to do."

"How would you know?" McGonagall snapped. "You haven't been doing anything."

"I have more duties than you would think," Umbridge replied enigmatically; an expression of mischievousness and smugness settling upon her face. It did not suit her at all, rather it made her appear to be more like the toad that she resembled; one that had just caught and eaten a particularly juicy bug.

"Like what?"

"That is Ministry business, Professor McGonagall," she replied smoothly.

"I believe," Dumbledore interjected before the conversation could get out of hand, "that we are straying from the topic."

McGonagall scowled at Umbridge, who drew herself up imperiously. "Of course, Headmaster. Do go on," she smirked.

Dumbledore's mouth twitched slightly, although he remained largely unruffled by her intended barb. "As you all know by now," he began, "our situation is dire. Or rather, the situation of the three Enterprise officers is dire. Our spells cannot, of course, reverse the Dark Magic that brought them here and apparition is out of the question.

"Yet it is possible indeed that we can devise a new spell which can counteract the effects of the one used by Voldemort. I do not expect this to be an easy task; in fact I suspect that it will be quite the opposite. We may even find that it is impossible and that Voldemort's transference to their universe was simply a happy mistake. However, I do not believe in coincidence, as you surely all know after many years of working with me," he said wryly.

"Hem hem."

Eyes narrowed around the table and a few people began to shuffle restlessly. It was clear what was coming, and not one of them liked the fact that Umbridge just didn't learn.

"Yes, Professor?" Dumbledore, by contrast, exhibited only signs of perfect patience, his customarily placid expression fixed firmly in place. Yet what lay behind that exterior was anyone's guess.

"I do not see why," Umbridge simpered, "you are giving such obvious details of the counter spell attempt, if you say that so little time is to spare. Surely, it would be more pragmatic to..." she gave a mock shrug, "get on with it?"

"It would, yes," Dumbledore conceded, "but not everyone has been present at these meetings. In my opinion, it is prudent to explain what the problem is, beyond a doubt, before you can fix it. Would you agree?"

"Under normal circumstances, yes," Umbridge replied, nodding her swollen head slowly. "But you yourself have said that these circumstances are not normal."

"It is not your place," Snape said with deadly quietness in his voice, "to question the Headmaster's methods."

"Oh, so silly of me," Umbridge tittered. Several people accidentally broke their quills in annoyance, "but that _is_ my job, or have you already forgotten our first staff meeting?"

"Of course I haven't forgotten," Snape snapped. "But you are hardly an appropriate authority to question the motives of..." his lip curled in obvious contempt, "wiser wizards."

Umbridge bristled. "I have every right; the Minister has sent me here. That gives me the authority. If Dumbledore is building a secret army, the Ministry should know about it."

"A secret army hardly has anything to do with our current efforts," Snape said.

"Perhaps that is what you want the Ministry to think." She sounded utterly deluded. "How do we know that these 'strangers' of which you speak are not simply an experiment?"

Snape raised a cool eyebrow and sneered. "That is preposterous."

"Is it really?" Umbridge asked, slightly shrilly. "It is certainly no secret that Dumbledore has power at his disposal."

"Excuse me, Dolores," Dumbledore interrupted politely, "but I am present in the room. You need not discuss me so impersonally; if you have a question for me, it would be better to ask me directly."

Umbridge immediately turned her beady eyes to him, Snape momentarily forgotten. "I was discussing the matter with your Potions Master."

"Yes, I can see," Dumbledore replied. "However, it would be more effective to discuss it with me. You will gain a much more direct path to the truth."

"Very well," she huffed, actually getting a notebook out of her bag. The quill which accompanied it hovered obediently over the paper.

"What are you doing?" McGonagall challenged. "This is hardly a trial!"

"The Minister will want to see this," Umbridge explained slowly, as though talking to someone very stupid. She turned back to the wizened wizard, who sat complacently at the head of the table. "Now, Headmaster," she said with false sweetness, "the whole truth, please."

"To what are you referring, Dolores?"

"Your plans for control, of course."

Dumbledore gave a small, nonchalant shrug. "I have no such plans."

"There is no need to try to deceive me, Headmaster. The truth will out."

"I am telling you the truth now," Dumbledore said calmly.

Umbridge sighed in frustration. "You admit that you have recently 'received' visitors to Hogwarts?"

"Yes."

The quill scribbled furiously and several professors at the table eyed it in unmistakable annoyance. "You also admit to proclaiming the rise of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?"

"Voldemort has returned, yes," Dumbledore said simply, ignoring as always the uncomfortable atmosphere which accompanied the name of the Dark Wizard.

"Is there a point to this inane questioning?" Snape asked in irritation.

Umbridge shot him a look but her voice was still sweet, almost sickly so. "You are not involved, Professor." She smirked. "At least, not yet."

She turned back to Dumbledore. "Then surely, if _he_ has returned, we would see some evidence of him." She looked around briefly, as though expecting it to suddenly appear within the room. No one else moved however, although some contented themselves with giving her an angry look when their eyes met hers.

"As I have just explained," Dumbledore said mildly, his patience apparently endless, "he has been transported into another world."

The quill scribbled this down. "How very convenient for you," Umbridge smirked. "Where," she said with a sarcastic tenor to her voice that was now undeniable, "would you say that is, exactly?"

"From what I gather," Dumbledore replied, surveying her over his half moon spectacles, "it is in another dimension."

"I suspect that it is also in the future?" Umbridge scoffed.

"As a matter of fact, it is."

"I see," she smirked, her elated grin widening as the quick quotes quill scribbled it down.

"You know all of this, of course," Dumbledore announced.

"It needs to be written down officially," Umbridge replied. "This is the perfect alibi, wouldn't you agree?"

"Alibi for what?" McGonagall asked angrily.

"With He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named apparently stranded in outer space and three strangers appearing at Hogwarts, a covert search for Dark Magic would be justified."

"I assure you, Dolores, that we are conducting no such search."

"I hardly expect you to confess directly, Headmaster," she simpered.

"Then what is the purpose of this time-wasting questionnaire?" Snape snapped.

"It is much more important than a questionnaire, Professor," Umbridge said, puffing herself up imperiously. "This is an investigation into Dark activities within Hogwarts."

"Professor Dumbledore just stated that there are no such activities," Snape dismissed.

"As I said earlier, I hardly expect a direct confession."

Dumbledore shifted slightly in his seat. "Dolores...I do not wish to seem rude but I am afraid that time is not a luxury at the moment."

Umbridge considered for a moment, trying to decide if this was true or if Dumbledore was simply trying to evade her questioning. "Very well," she finally conceded. "Do you not agree that the excuse of trying to return the three strangers to their own 'universe' would be sufficient cover for illegal activity?"

Dumbledore smiled at her. "It would be indeed, but I would not do such a thing."

"That is for the Minister to decide," Umbridge sniffed. "Although it will not exactly be a difficult decision, given the type of company you keep." She threw a significant glance at Snape.

He scowled at her. "As you yourself said earlier, I am not involved."

"I said that you were not involved yet," she emphasised, mouth convulsing upwards in glee. "You are the perfect agent for this plan, are you not?"

"I have no idea what you mean," Snape said coolly.

She tittered derisively. "You are a notorious expert on the Dark Arts," she simpered, her voice growing harder as she continued. "It would not be difficult for you to help Dumbledore in creating new Unforgivables."

"So this is what the Ministry calls 'Intelligence'," Snape said contemptuously. "Your suspicions have less subtlety than a giant."

"Severus," Dumbledore admonished gently, a smile lurking around his eyes. "That is enough." Snape scowled but obediently refrained from further insults.

Umbridge gave a small 'hem hem', her voice slightly uncertain. "It is my opinion, and the Minister's as well, that this entire fiasco has been dreamt up."

Dumbledore inclined his head. "I know that it sounds slightly impossible," he admitted, "but it is nevertheless the truth."

Umbridge was beginning to look frustrated. "You will make the sentence no easier upon yourself if you continue to deny your illegal actions, Headmaster."

"There is nothing for me to deny, Dolores," Dumbledore said quietly.

"Surely," she persisted, "if the threat of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was so great, you would have had this new development published."

"Don't you realise that that is impossible?" Snape hissed. Umbridge simply blinked back at him.

Dumbledore intervened smoothly, recognising the increasing state of agitation among much of his staff. "Severus is right, Dolores. We could not risk publishing it."

"What is the problem?" She simpered. "Surely it is good news for the wizarding community that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has apparently vanished?" She smirked. "Although I dare say that he was never here in the first instance."

"If we publish the arrival of the three Enterprise officers," Dumbledore explained patiently, "there would be uproar among the Death Eater community. Those who truly supported Voldemort would no doubt try to capture the officers in an attempt to restore their Master to his former position."

The quill continued to scribble. "I see," was all Umbridge said. "Why so desperate to bring him back? Assuming, of course, that he was here in the first place."

"We must return the three officers to their universe, Dolores."

"That would entail returning He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named," Umbridge pointed out.

"Yes," Dumbledore said regretfully.

More scribbling was heard. Nearly everyone in the room was frowning now, with the exception of Umbridge. "That would mean returning him to power?"

"He would be restored, yes."

"Then you would willingly bring a known Dark Wizard back to our world," she said incredulously, "in favour of getting three officers back to theirs?"

"Yes. They cannot simply remain here."

Her eyebrows lifted at that. "Why not?" When she failed to receive an immediate answer, she ploughed on. "You would be condemning our world to further war, all for three people."

"Regretfully, that would appear to be a side effect," Dumbledore replied carefully. "Yet we already know that it would happen. If you will recall, the renowned prophecy of Harry Potter and Lord Voldemort speaks of a final battle."

"You would risk the lives of many on a mere prophecy?" She asked in disbelief. "Forgive me for saying so," she said, sounding not the least bit sorry, "but that would seem quite foolish."

"Prophecies have proved to be very accurate in the past," Dumbledore said calmly.

"You could of course simply leave the three officers in our world, and everyone would be the better for it," she pressed.

"The future cannot be changed."

Umbridge smirked. "Do you see now how unbelievable this situation is? Even if we consider your story to be true, which of course it absolutely is not – such a thing would be impossible – it would hardly be ethical to sacrifice the future of thousands for the simple happiness of three." She smiled toadishly around the room. "That will be all," she said triumphantly as she took in everyone's grim expressions. "Thank you." She swept out of the room.

"That woman is intolerable!" Snape immediately complained, glaring at the closed door.

"She's right though," one of the teachers said. "We'd be sentencing thousands, possibly millions, to death under He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named."

"Headmaster, are you sure that we're right?" McGonagall asked.

Dumbledore nodded. "The prophecy is to be fulfilled. There is no other choice."

"Surely you can't believe that," Snape said.

Dumbledore looked at him. "I have faith in our prophet," he said, giving a significant glance to Snape. "It is accurate. The future cannot be changed." Without further comment, he returned to the matter at hand.

Throughout the entire meeting, it could not be denied that the minds of many of the professors were not entirely devoted to the task at hand. While they were content to obey Dumbledore and trust his judgement for the moment, they seemed to be conflicted on the ethics of it. Dumbledore must have realised this, because he gave them all reassuring glances every now and then, as though to reinforce the fact that they were right and Umbridge was wrong.

Yet a few left that meeting wondering if this was the case.


	12. Dreams

**12. Dreams.**

Still damp from his excursion earlier that day, Spock bid farewell to the young Gryffindor and stepped into the Slytherin common room, the boy's surprised expression etched into his mind. He had said the customary human farewell greeting, had he not? The boy had informed him of that, yet he had still had an air of confusion about him. He shook his head slightly. Perhaps he would never fully comprehend human behaviour, despite the amount of time he had lived with various members of the human race.

He quietly deposited his school bag by a chair and sank into the soft cushioning, feeling slightly weakened by his previous excursion in the rain. Vulcans as a rule were not made for cold weather, having grown up on a desert planet. Their body temperature was significantly higher than a human's in order to compensate for the harsh environment in which they had evolved, and they also stored a much higher amount of water in a natural survival mechanism; the less they sweat in their home environment, the more chance they had of surviving.

In fact, McCoy had once likened him to a "cactus with ears". It was a most puzzling analogy, yet for reasons he could not fathom, he had felt amusement at the physician's gentle sniping.

A small ache had formed in the pit of his stomach at his ponderings, near to his heart, and he frowned at the familiar sensation. Whenever he discussed or even meditated on the topic of his lost home planet, he would experience this illogical bodily reaction. It was almost as though his heart was dysfunctional, although he knew this not to be the case. It was possible that McCoy would understand his reaction, since it was almost certainly psychosomatic, but he did not wish to discuss it with the acerbic human.

While it was true that he had come to trust the man, even like him although his Vulcan upbringing rebelled against that notion, he was hardly ready to discuss things of such a personal nature. As a matter of fact, he had disclosed his opinions on the destruction of his planet to no one, not even his older self. There was no need to, he had reasoned; the emotions must be dealt with in the Vulcan way. That did not allow for intimate discussion of them.

Yet he had to admit that the Vulcan way was having a disappointing success rate, although he did not show this outwardly. Every day he could feel the persistent weight on his mind of the memories that had been forged at the moment that the black hole had been created. Occasionally, in his dreams, he could still hear the mental screams as millions of Vulcans were separated from the universe, killed by a being without remorse.

Illogically, he felt responsible. He knew that he had done nothing to warrant such an attack upon his race, his home world...at least, he had not done anything yet. The knowledge still remained that he might in the future, if this timeline had any similarity to the one which his older self claimed to originate from. His appointment of First Officer under Captain James T Kirk, youngest captain in the history of the Fleet and only person to beat the Kobayashi Maru test, albeit through unconventional methods, already attested to the fact that there were undeniable parallels. If this persisted for the rest of his life, he would find himself responsible for the slaughter of his people and those of Nero. He would fail, as he had done so many times before, to fully complete his promises.

Feeling the pressures of a looming future weighing down upon him, he allowed himself to lean uncharacteristically back into his chair, laying his head on the headrest and struggled to dispel the chill settling into his bones. The fire was flickering before him, close enough to provide the warmth that he needed, yet through either the cold that he had been forced to endure or from unexplained mental effects, none of it reached his body.

He let himself simply sit, something that he had not done for a long while, and watch the students as they played amongst themselves. He saw a variety of card games which seemed precarious at the least, and an interesting variation of chess. He briefly considered moving closer to the game to watch as it unfolded, but found himself curiously unwilling to move. This time, he allowed himself to frown and briefly closed his eyes in what he was half certain would be a futile attempt to motivate himself to unpack his schoolbag. He needed to research as much as he possibly could if they were to have any hope at surviving in this newfound universe, and he was certain that neither the Captain nor the Doctor would have time to do so, as they were still immersed in their homework assignments.

Thus the duty fell to him. Sighing, he permitted himself a few brief moments to rest, feeling himself drifting...

_Suddenly, he was floating in blackness, a thousand lost souls reaching out to him. Their pale, white hands grasped for his, fingers brushing against his palm in a futile attempt to grab hold of his flesh, to keep him with them. _

_Wordlessly, he felt himself drifting past them. All he could do was stare at them, helpless to do anything as they were slowly but surely sucked into a blackened void behind them. A few fixed him with wide, dispassionate eyes which cut right through him, their lips imploring him to stop, to help. _

_But he could not._

_Still he floated on, past the wailing children who had not yet learned life, the desperate mothers who clutched them close. Fathers stood over them or knelt beside them, murmuring as kind a words as they knew as their collective deaths slowly approached. A few simply sat there, seemingly unconcerned as their world crumbled around them, shattered everything that they had ever known. _

_The constant murmur of helplessness trickled into his delicate ears, but he could not reply, could not move. His hands were pinned to his sides, but he struggled against the invisible bonds. A mad laugh echoed at every jerk of his body, an insane rhythm beating with his frantic heart. _

_A face materialised above, around, through him. It penetrated his very being. It was his past, present and future. _

_Sneering at him, it gazed into his desperate eyes, raked his struggling body with contempt. "What?" it spat with pure malice. "Can't get free?"_

_Spock opened his mouth to try to talk, but could barely pry his lips apart. He could feel cold, dead air seeping through his clenched teeth and freezing the back of his throat._

_"Always the helpless one," the face whispered, shimmering before him slightly as something red flew through it. "Never quite managing to succeed." It laughed softly. _

_The souls around him seemed to gain tangibility now, as they began to shuffle towards him. Their eyes blinked as though they had finally recognised what was happening, blind panic replacing the calm detachment they had possessed in the face of the unknown threat. They knew now, for certain, that certain death was coming. It was no longer just a possibility. _

_"Don't you want to save them, Spock?" A voice whispered in his ear as the face swirled around him, transforming itself into the body of Nero. A hard and unrelenting hand grabbed his face when he tried to glance away. "LOOK AT THEM!" He suddenly roared, shattering the silence like a mirror._

_A lone human woman stared up at him from the floor, her body broken and twisted. Her head was half smashed away; blood staining her hair unrecognisably. Her mouth gaped in one final scream and her arms seemed to flail, although one had almost been clean ripped off by the sudden impact. _

_Her features were barely recognisable as something that had once lived, mangled as they were by death, but he knew her instantly. People walked around her and over her unconcernedly in their attempt to get to him. _

_Nero's hissing voice told him that his lips were just inches away from Spock's ear. "Look at what you've done."_

_A small sound rose in the back of his throat but his teeth were still clamped together. The cold was going up his nostrils now and around his ears. He could feel his hands seizing up uselessly as he finally managed to jerk them free. He could not use them. _

_"Do you have something to say?" the whisper mocked. People continued to pass through them surreally. "Do you think anything can justify what you did?"_

_He found that he could open his mouth, and the cold rushed in completely, filling his being. "I...did not do this."_

_"Didn't you?" Nero smirked. He waved a ghostly arm around him. "Take a look, Spock," he ordered. "These are not just the people of Vulcan."_

_Sure enough, he could see subtle differences in those congregated before him; a slight shift in the upswept eyebrows or a different point to the ear. No one wore any expressions, but their eyes spoke volumes. _

_"You killed them all, Spock." Nero's grip tightened as it dragged him past all of the people that he had ever known throughout his childhood. Lying before him now was no longer the body of his mother, but that of a Vulcan Elder. His chest was crushed by an invisible weight. "Even those you attempted to save died."_

_He shook his head numbly. "That is not true...my father-"_

_"Is dying inside," Nero finished smoothly. "You might have saved his body, but you lost him his life. You lost him what he found worth living for." Dark eyes scrutinised his. "He doesn't say it, but he hates you. All who are here...they hate you."_

_"They-" he was not allowed to finish. _

_"Look into their eyes, Spock." His face was thrust into that of an innocent child. She was clutching her mother's hand tightly, an expression of fierce stoicism on her face. Yet her eyes betrayed her; they were filled with fire, the feeling overflowing and pinning him beneath it. "Tell me what you see."_

_"Hate."_

_Nero hissed. "More than that."_

_He forced himself not to turn away and run. "Loathing."_

_Nero shook his head. "Blame. After all these years, you don't recognise blame?" He laughed; a cold, humourless tone. "You dirtied their race with your very birth, Spock. You have been blamed all of your life. Only now, have you beyond a doubt earned it."_

_Sybok stood before him, the usual smile gone from his face, the empathy gone from his eyes. His expression was rock hard, unyielding. "I fought for you, little brother," he said in a voice of toneless resignation. "I fought for you when no one else would. I thought I recognised something deep within you, something special. I saw the ability to achieve fantastic things...I never anticipated failure, little brother."_

_"Sybok," he croaked around the sudden lump in his throat, "Sybok, I could not-"_

_"Oh, but you could," Nero interjected as they moved on, Sybok falling behind and into the crowd. "Don't you see? You could have stopped all of this. All you had to do was keep one little promise." He held up a finger with deliberate slowness. "Just one."_

_"How?" He demanded. He had had this inner debate with himself countless times, and never found a conclusion. _

_"It is your future, Spock."_

_"That does not give me a solution."_

_Nero smirked. "Don't you see?" He tutted pitifully. "You were arrogant. You thought that you could handle this without help, and we were fools to believe you. What could one half Vulcan possibly do to stop our tragedy?"_

_"I do not understand."_

_"You could have prevented this," Nero continued bitterly, gesturing at the living dead around them, "if you had only admitted that you weren't up to the task." He leaned further forwards. "That you needed __**help**__."_

_"That is a different timeline," he said with a conviction that he did not really feel. "A different manifestation of myself. I have not yet-"_

_"But you might," Nero interrupted impatiently. "This timeline is similar to the other. You're right where your counterpart was, so many years ago." He sneered in Spock's face, breath rising up Spock's nostrils. "If something like this happens to Romulus in your future, will you make the same mistake?"_

_"No," he said quietly. _

_"Then you need to use reason." Nero's features began to shift, and suddenly Spock found that he was staring at himself. "Use logic. You cannot do this alone, Spock."_

_"I do not know how-"_

_"Then you must ask," Spock told himself reasonably. "Do not let others die because of your incompetence."_

_He reached out a hand and gently slapped Spock in the shoulder. "Wake up."_

_"I beg your pardon?" He blinked as the dead souls began to slowly disappear, although the cold remained. _

_"Wake up," Spock ordered himself calmly, this time hitting him lightly over the head._

Blinking in surprise at having witnessed such a bizarre dream, Spock glanced up to see Malfoy looming over him. "We need to talk," the Slytherin said shortly, looking distinctly uncomfortable.

oOo

Spock trudged to Divination the next day, feeling oddly as though he were a scarecrow. His body was unbelievably stiff and achy, his head thumped in rhythm with his footsteps and his throat burned. He had never experienced such a thing before, but he knew enough from his human colleagues to recognise this as the Vulcan equivalent of the flu.

Sitting down on a tantalizingly soft cushion in the stuffy classroom, he resisted the very human urge to yawn and rub his eyes. He swallowed it into the back of his throat, noticing as he did so that his mouth was beginning to feel like cotton. His lips were beginning to chap from the unusually harsh wind and, not for the first time, he wished that he was not so vulnerable to weather.

McCoy eyed him in concern as he settled back with a posture less rigid than normal. "Spock, are you alright?"

"I am perfectly functional, thank you Doctor."

"You don't look it," Kirk chipped in, mouth tightening in worry.

"It's probably due to all that running around you did in the rain yesterday," McCoy said with an accusing tone. "What were you doing out there anyway?"

"I was hardly running, Doctor," he replied wearily.

"That doesn't answer his question," Kirk pointed out. "Let's have it Spock. The truth."

"Very well. I was attempting Quidditch."

"You were _what_?" McCoy instantly exploded.

"Attempting Quidditch, Doctor," the Vulcan replied in a weary monotone and winced. "I would prefer, however, that you refrain from communicating in such excessive decibels."

"You should have thought about that before you got yourself ill," McCoy snapped.

"I assure you Doctor, that it was hardly a voluntary action on my part to contract an illness."

"Did you make the team?" Kirk asked, before McCoy could open his mouth to retort.

"Jim!"

"What?" Kirk demanded of the glaring physician innocently, "I'm curious."

"I am reserve seeker," Spock replied.

"Who's the real one?" Kirk asked, completely ignoring McCoy's increasingly indignant scowl.

"Mr Malfoy."

"Funny..." Kirk mused. "With your strength, I pictured you as a beater."

"Unfortunately, Captain, I propelled the bludger out of the perimeters of the pitch. It was decided that I was therefore unsuitable for such a position."

"I wish I could have seen that," Kirk chuckled.

"Both of you," McCoy suddenly snapped, "just _shut up_ for a moment." He glared them both into submission before turning his heated gaze back onto Spock. "I thought you were against Quidditch!"

"You are mistaken. I was not in accordance with the activity when it was suggested that the Captain participate without supervision. In all other instances," he explained, lip twitching slightly at Kirk's expression, "I have not indicated a preference."

"Until now," Kirk interjected.

McCoy ignored this interruption. "You know what I think about this!" He hissed furiously.

"Indeed. However, you do not dictate my actions, Doctor."

McCoy huffed. "You're almost as idiotic as Jim."

"Hey!"

"Oh don't deny it, Jim. No one can beat your record of injuries caused by lunacy."

"You never know," Kirk shot back.

They continued to banter under their breaths as Professor Trelawney began the lesson with a mystical entrance and quiet speech on the art of Divination. From their vantage point in the classroom, they could clearly see that not many students were paying close attention; many having assumed a seemingly routinely glazed expression, a few even daring to place their heads on the tables beside them and drift to sleep.

Spock studiously tuned out the bickering humans beside him. Although he considered the prediction of the future to be a highly illogical profession, not to mention impossibly paradoxical, he had resolved to learn as much as possible from all of his lessons at Hogwarts, including this one, unfortunately. While it may not be apparent now, the art of Divination may one day prove to be essential.

"Now," Professor Trelawney was saying in her soothingly soft voice, "I want you all to look into the mugs on your table...no, not now dear," she hastily corrected herself as an overeager student picked up their mug, "and tell me what you see."

A girl whom they recognised as Pavarti Patil stuck her hand into the air. "Professor, what are we looking for?"

"I cannot tell you what lies in your future," Trelawney said mysteriously, "but your texts should give you all the definitions that you need."

At the table adjacent to the three Star Fleet officers, Ron and Harry exchanged amused glances, and Ron leaned forwards to whisper conspiratorially in Harry's ear, although Spock still heard with his Vulcan hearing. "Just like it has for the past five years."

Another student asked a question, and after a few minutes of this back and forth conversation Spock could feel his concentration slipping – an experience which, due to its rarity for him, he found extremely disquieting.

He was powerless to stop the slowing down of his blinking process, lulled as he was by the welcoming warmth of the room's atmosphere and Trelawney's soft voice. His body, normally rigid and proper, began to relax in its armchair, his arms draped loosely on its sides. His breathing began to slow and deepen, but he could not bring himself to care...

A sudden poke in the ribs an indeterminable amount of time later, he opened his eyes to find both Kirk and McCoy staring at him in concern. The class was already staring into various mugs, a few even swirling it around absently to make the contents reform into a different shape. The quiet murmur of voices filled the air and Professor Trelawney drifted between the tables, leaning calmly over the shoulders of various students and listening to their predictions. Occasionally, she would predict a terrible accident or illness and then move on, leaving the alternately stricken or amused students in her wake.

The tips of his ears flushed in slight embarrassment and he pulled himself erect in his chair once more. He had fallen asleep – it had been brief, but disturbingly out of character.

"Are you alright?" Kirk asked eventually.

Spock nodded. "I am functional."

McCoy's eyes narrowed at him as he struggled and only partially succeeded in stifling a yawn. "What time did you get to sleep last night?"

"I returned to the Room of Requirement at 2300."

"Did detention with Umbridge last that long?" Kirk asked in shock.

"Negative. However, I took the opportunity to visit the Slytherin common room."

"Why?" Ron asked bluntly from the next table as Harry was explaining his theory to a stricken looking Professor Trelawney.

"I was intending to complete my extra research."

"How long have you been doing that?" the boy continued, looking shocked that anyone other than Hermione would be crazy enough to do extra work.

"Since our arrival."

"Have you been doing it at night?" McCoy asked suddenly.

"Occasionally," Spock admitted.

"So you were working in the common room until 2300," Kirk deduced.

"I was not. Mr Malfoy engaged me in discussion, wishing to apologise for previous behaviour."

"You mean the tickling spell?"

"Affirmative, Captain."

"That doesn't sound like Malfoy," Harry commented once Trelawney had finished predicting his gruesome death and had moved on to another victim.

"Slow down just a minute," McCoy ordered, having been scrutinising Spock carefully. "I know that you've been working at night," he said, "but you have to take care of yourself, especially if you're going to go galloping around in the rain."

"I was hardly 'galloping' Doctor. Such behaviour is usually prescribed to horses."

"Just tell me what time you got to sleep last night, Spock," McCoy continued in exasperation.

"I see no reason why last night holds such significance for you."

"It became important," McCoy said smoothly, "when you didn't answer me the first time I asked you."

"That is incorrect," Spock said. "I informed you that I returned to the Room of Requirement-"

"The jig is up, Spock," McCoy interrupted. "You never answered the question so stop trying to evade it!"

Spock's eyebrows predictably rose. "I do not know what a jig is, Doctor, nor do I know why it should be 'up'."

"Spock," this time it was Kirk who was beginning to sound exasperated. "Just answer the question."

There was a telling silence and McCoy sighed. "You didn't sleep at all, did you?"

"Negative," Spock admitted quietly.

"Why not?" McCoy's voice had, in sharp contrast with mere moments ago, assumed a soft quality, the concern shining through what was usually the physician's gruff exterior.

Spock refused to shift uncomfortably under the scrutiny. "I did not require it."

McCoy's eyes narrowed. "Oh really?" He scoffed. "Tell me, Mister Spock, have you looked in a mirror lately?"

"I know my own appearance, Doctor, I do not require constant consultation with a mirror to verify that it is unchanged."

"My point," McCoy said in exasperation, "is that you look terrible, and going out in that storm yesterday didn't help. Whatever your reason for not sleeping, 'not needing it' wasn't it." He leaned forwards and spoke softly. Ron and Harry, taking the hint, looked away and pretended to be busy in their work. "Spock, we're your friends. If there's anything on your mind, you can tell us."

Spock's mind warily flickered back to the dream about Nero; the real reason that he had not slept last night after so many late hours of research. He considered the words of advice that had been presented to him; that he needed help of people who knew how to give it. That he needed to learn to receive it. If dreams were the language of the subconscious, then perhaps he should try listening to it. Perhaps his human half was doing something which his non-dreaming Vulcan counterpart never could – warning him, protecting him from himself.

He hesitated visibly before giving his answer. "I...am unaccustomed to such discussions."

Kirk nodded in understanding. "If it makes you feel better, we could talk about it later in the Room of Requirement."

He inclined his head in agreement. "That would be preferable."

Inwardly, he wondered if he had made the right decision. He certainly was not used to sharing his feelings, and to do so now, in front of two people who could never hope to understand his current circumstances, was almost unthinkable. It went against all his Vulcan upbringing had ever taught him about emotional independence, the ability to control so that things which were wished to stay private remained hidden. Yet perhaps, he reflected, he had been rejecting his mother's advice too much. Perhaps it was time to honour her memory, and take it.

oOo

_Feeling detached from the world around him, Montgomery Scott slowly walked through the door to his new quarters at the Star Fleet Academy, barely believing his luck that he had passed the exams with flying colours. A soft 'whoosh' announced his arrival and he stopped just inside the doorway, taking in every inch of his new home with something akin to excitement. _

_It was not the most lavish of settings, in fact it was much simpler than the surroundings to which he was accustomed, but it already felt right, as though he was meant beyond a hint of a doubt to be there. There were the necessities of course, along with a small sofa in front of a slightly old fashioned looking television, and bookshelves lining the walls. A few holo-photographs were already up on the walls, showing the family of his new room-mate and, he reflected wryly, hopefully friend._

_Feeling curious, he stepped forwards and, dumping his heavy luggage onto the empty bed, leaned forwards to peer at the beings in the photograph. _

_They stood, all of them, at least over six foot, maybe just under seven. Their skin had a slightly orange quality to it, barely noticeable unless Scott squinted and stood out of the light. It made them appear almost like surreal bronze statues, their features perfectly chiselled and eyes gleaming out of their faces. Their hair was all long, even on the men, until it touched the backs of their knees. In fact, apart from those three distinguishing features, they could have been mistaken for humans. _

_There was a young man in the middle of the clustered group, proudly holding up the letter of invitation to the Academy, his mouth showing the radiating happiness that he was feeling. Two taller men had their arms around him, their expressions showing their clear pride for the new student, their expectations of him. A shy looking girl stood to one side, her eyes not looking directly at whoever had taken the picture, as the others were, but at a point just over their shoulder. Other assorted people stood around them, all of them beaming proudly and in some cases laughing in sheer joy. It seemed that the boy's entire family had come to celebrate; people spilling out of the frame and others cramming their faces in around the sides. _

_Scott chuckled quietly, remembering how his own acceptance had been received in much the same way. _

_The door whooshed open and Scott jumped away from the photograph, not quickly enough, guiltily. The boy from the photo strode in casually, his long hair billowing slightly behind him as he walked. His clothes were from his home world; long and flowing, almost mystical in quality. He looked almost like a wise wizard from old Earth lore, although his expression told a different story. _

_He was not wizened looking, with a permanently sombre expression as would be expected from his clothes, but mischievous and full of vivacity, eyes gleaming at a permanent joke. They seemed to look straight through Scott as he came to a halt, and the Scotsman blushed in embarrassment at having been caught in the act of prying into his new room-mate's personal life. Not a good start, he decided. _

_"Ach, I'm sorry," he mumbled, beginning to be unnerved by the sudden intensity of the gaze opposite him. "I did nae mean tae pry...I just saw the holo and was curious..." he trailed off lamely. _

_Suddenly, incredibly, the boy laughed, throwing back his head in mirth. "Don't worry," he said softly once he had finished; his voice strong and deep. He had a rolling accent, thick with an unfamiliar world. "I don't mind you looking." He stepped forwards, covering the ground in no time at all because of his large stride. "My name is Tohn." He held out his hand politely. _

_Scott blinked, thoroughly thrown off guard by Tohn's so far unpredictable behaviour. "I'm erm...Montgomery Scott," he finally muttered, looking up into the boy's eyes. _

_"Nice to meet you," Tohn said enthusiastically, pumping his hand up and down with vigour. "You're from Earth?"_

_"Aye," Scott replied once his arm had finished being attacked. "Scotland."_

_"I think I've been there," Tohn gushed, grinning at having found something in common. "It was fantastic...I'm from Gaar," he added quickly. "Did I mention that?"_

_"No..." Scott replied thoughtfully. "That's the planet new to the Federation, isn't it?"_

_"Yep, that's the one!" He opened a draw and pulled out several photos. "Do you want to see what it looks like? I know not many people have. I'd actually be surprised if anyone recognised me as a Gaaran, to be honest."_

_"Alright," Scott answered, curiously scooting over to where Tohn had sat on his bed. _

_"This is my house," Tohn explained, poking the photo with his long finger. The building was large and sprawling, with many circular structures around it and with a strangely shaped roof. Exotic looking plants surrounded it, reinforcing the alien setting completely. It almost looked like something out of science fiction. _

_Scott whistled. "Do all houses look like this?"_

_"Of course they do! But," he added, "not completely. The more circular structures you have, the richer you are."_

_He peered at the breathtaking house once more, noticing how very little of it appeared to be straight. "I'm guessing yer family are very rich..."_

_"That we are," Tohn said smilingly, looking at the next photo with fondness. "I guess you could say we're from a sort of Royal family."_

_"Ye're Royal?"_

_"Our family is closely linked to the Gaaran monarch," he explained. "I think your word is 'cousins'. Anyway," he said quickly before Scott could comment, "this is the largest continent. I took this from the shuttle craft on the way here."_

_He handed the photo to Scott, who could see from this aerial position all of the houses in the main cities, along with a few lights as night time apparently began to fall. The land mass was surrounded by sparkling water, which had a slightly green tinge to it, although it was otherwise blue. A few ripples formed from what was supposedly a rough storm, forming small white horses upon the otherwise smooth surface. _

_"Here's another one," Tohn announced when Scott looked up. "It's down in the caves near the beach. That's a ten minute walk from my house."_

_Wordlessly, Scott accepted the photos with mounting amazement at his first true sight of a newly discovered world. He had seen photographs of Vulcan and Telar of course, since when he was in school they were both very influential in his courses, but he had never seen anything like this. He had never seen anything which was so similar to Earth and yet eerily different. It was almost dreamlike, the way that the mountains sprawled across the vast expanses of land, the way that the sea always seemed to shimmer in the sunlight, even the moonlight. He gaped openly as he was handed photo after photo of yawning cliffs and valleys, clustering trees or houses and fluffy beach. _

_"That's my planet," Tohn concluded proudly. "Not many people have seen it, like I said before. You're one of the first outside of the discovery and diplomacy expeditions."_

_"It's..." he searched fruitlessly for words to describe, unable to encompass all of the emotions, the desires that it made him feel. It made him want to delve deep into space on his own ship, meet new races and see new planets. That was why he was here, of course, but these pictures reminded him anew of his motivations, and increased his determination to get aboard a good ship. "I cannae describe it."_

_Tohn chuckled once more. "Don't worry. We got that a lot when your race first found us." He had shuffled up the photos once more and placed them back in the drawer. _

_"Do ye think the same of Earth?"_

_"Oh yes. This planet is so..." he paused for a moment, waving his arm slightly, "...square."_

_Scott blinked and then burst into laughter. "Square?" he gasped. "That's a first."_

_"It is!" Tohn said emphatically, grinning openly. "All your buildings are the same and even your machinery is. You're all obsessed with straight edges."_

_"It makes everything easier to fit together..." Scott said with slight dryness in his voice, realising how weird that sounded. _

_"Your planet isn't a jigsaw," Tohn joined in, laughing. He shook his head in amusement, his long hair swaying. "You need some randomness thrown in there!"_

_"We're already random enough, thank ye," Scott said. _

_"Oh come on," Tohn entreated. "Live a little. If I didn't know any better," he added, "I'd say your space ships were square too. You people need variety."_

_"You need less variety," Scott shot back playfully, causing them both to grin. "Your buildings are all over the place."_

_"Hey, we enjoy getting lost. Life is an adventure."_

_Scott snorted, marvelling at how he already felt that he had known Tohn for years instead of minutes. "If ye say so."_

_"Speaking of adventure," the man next to Scott said, enthusiasm barely hidden in his voice, "I can't wait to go further into space. All of those planets left to be explored, all of those things to see...problems to solve." Scott frowned slightly at that but did not press the point. "It'll be, to use one of your Earth expressions, 'awesome'."_

_"Aye, that it will," Scott agreed. "Which ship are ye planning to go for?"_

_"Maybe the new one that's being built. The Enterprise."_

_"She's a beauty," Scott said dreamily, "from what I've heard."_

_"It's very competitive though. Not to worry," Tohn said cheerfully, as though he had no worries at all, "I'm planning on throwing myself into these courses. My enthusiasm is p'yimeh!"_

_"P'yimeh?"_

_"That's a Gaaran word..." Tohn explained ruefully. "Since we only just made contact with your world, it's a bit difficult to speak your language with fluency."_

_"Ye do very well tae say we made contact only one year ago."_

_"We're quick learners," the Gaaran explained dismissively. "I think p'yimeh is...unlimited?" He said this last word as a question, face scrunching up slightly. _

_"I do nae know," Scott said. _

_"That's the downside of being a newly contacted planet. It's sometimes hard to communicate. Oh well, I'll look it up later...Do you want to go for a look round?"_

_The rest of the day was spent examining the grounds to what was, effectively, their new home. Several other first year students appeared to be doing the same; walking around conspicuously in groups, a few even having maps to stop them from getting lost. _

_As they were chatting with another group of first year cadets like themselves, Scott could not help but marvel at how well Tohn appeared to fit in. He was content just to chat away about his planet if anyone asked; which they usually did since they did not recognise his appearance, answering any extra questions that people had. He made them laugh and gasp as he detailed stories from his childhood, usually legends about various warriors rather than his own memories and eventually a few cadets ventured to swap some of Earth's. What resulted was an epic battle between heroes in an effort to determine which were better; those of Gaaran or those of Earth. Needless to say, they reached no real conclusion, but simply argued for hours on end as they continued to survey the grounds together. _

_When night finally fell and everyone had turned in, Scott lay awake, staring at the ceiling and allowing his mind to drift towards all that he had learned that day of the planet Gaar; the wildlife, the historically significant people, the development of their culture. It was by no means a complete history of the planet, but it was certainly enough to fill Scott's mind with buzzing facts, although he could not help but wonder as he began to drift, how Tohn fitted into all of this. Despite all of his talking and amiability, he seemed reluctant to actually discuss what had happened in his life, although he would happily talk about other members of his family, or of the area in which he grew up. _

_With that puzzling thought in mind, he succumbed to the welcoming darkness of dreams, allowing himself to imagine the finished product of the Enterprise; circular and square, the two cultures merged together._

Gasping, Scott sat bolt upright in bed, sweat running down his neck in rivulets. It had been years since he had thought of Tohn and even longer since he had thought of his Academy days. That voice linked with a long distant past plagued him even now; lurking at the back of his mind and whispering accusations at him. He had hoped that things would remain the way that he had left them; harmless. But the attack in the turbo lift spoke of a situation which was anything but what he hoped.

His past had come back, and Scott had an alarming idea why.


	13. Mysteries and Solutions

**13. Mysteries and Solutions. **

For the rest of the school day, McCoy watched Spock with his trained physician's eye, noticing the paler than normal complexion, the slight tremors as they went anywhere near fresh air, even if it was just an open window. Dark circles were beginning to form under the Vulcan's eyes, a testament to how hard he was working to gain enough knowledge for survival in this world.

McCoy suddenly felt very guilty for not doing more to improve his own understanding of magic. Instead, he had complained and blundered his way through classes, only sporadically remembering important information or finishing homework, while Spock had silently been denying himself rest in a desperate yet annoyingly logical attempt to get them back to the Enterprise.

Now, as they climbed up the stairs to the Room of Requirement, he resolved to do what more he could to help, and to encourage Kirk to do the same. Of course, it didn't help that both officers were now on the Quidditch team and likely to get themselves killed somehow. Knowing their luck they would, and just before they got to the Enterprise. He would beam up, clutching two splintered broomsticks, and be given the ominous task of trying to explain to Command just _how_ two of their top officers had managed to nose dive into the ground on a _broomstick_ which, by all rights, should not be able to fly in the first place. And Kirk, McCoy resolved grimly, would be laughing at him. Spock, he presumed, would be floating beside him and smirking, with that damned raised eyebrow of his. Or perhaps he would be too busy working out the logistics of being a ghost.

McCoy grimly entered the Room of Requirement, watching the aforementioned Vulcan carefully as he sat down in a squashy arm chair near the fire in abnormal weariness. Kirk, equally concerned, sat nearby, stretching out on the sofa. McCoy took the last remaining armchair between the two of them.

"I wish I had my medkit," McCoy complained as Spock settled himself more comfortable in the chair, leaning almost imperceptibly closer to the fire. "Do you feel cold, Mister Spock?"

The Vulcan froze, as though he hadn't realised what he was doing. Finally, perhaps realising that a denial of something so obviously come to light would be illogical, he nodded slowly. "Affirmative. It is manageable, however."

"Spock," Kirk said gently, getting up to fetch a blanket from one of the beds, "you don't have to manage anything." He held out the blanket, but Spock did not take it.

"Jim's right," McCoy added forcefully. "There's no use staying uncomfortable when you can prevent it, Spock. You'll just make it worse for yourself."

Spock sighed in slight resignation, finally accepting the blanket from Kirk with a small but grateful incline of the head and wrapping it around his slight frame. He seemed to relax marginally, although his posture was still slightly stiffer than it should have been.

"Now," McCoy said with as soft a voice as he could muster after his anger on Spock's Quidditch tryout, "what did you want to tell us?"

When Spock hesitated, Kirk leaned forward. "Remember what we said earlier? We're your friends Spock. We can help you, but you have to let us in."

The corner of Spock's mouth twitched. "Logical." He seemed to gather himself for a moment. "Cast your minds back, if you will, to Nero."

"I'll never forget that green-blooded son of a-"

"Bones," Kirk interrupted gently, cutting McCoy off mid flow, "not right now."

"Sorry," McCoy muttered sheepishly, lifting his gaze to meet Spock's. "Carry on."

The Vulcan took a deep breath and appeared to mentally steady himself; his eyes closing for a moment and his lips pressing into a thin line. "This...is an unusual experience for me."

"There's no need to apologise, Spock," Kirk assured him, giving him a small smile. "Take your time."

It was several, uncomfortable minutes later that Spock spoke once more. "He..." He paused uncharacteristically, and McCoy suddenly realised how much this was costing Spock, how much even his very silence had cost him. "He...destroyed Vulcan, because of me."

McCoy, when Spock bowed his head momentarily, shared a significant look with Kirk. He had been told about the contents of the shared mind meld, and knew to what Spock was referring. At this moment, he didn't think it would help for him to mention that he did. Spock needed to say this for himself; clearly, his silence had been costing him worse than this admission.

Spock lifted his head once more. "He committed genocide, because I failed."

There was silence, and McCoy felt that he should say something, although he did not know what effect it would have at this early stage of the conversation. "Spock...Nero was-"

"Do not," Spock interrupted sharply, his piercing eyes on the surgeon, "try to placate me, Doctor. I failed, nothing can change that fact. It was my duty to save Romulus, but I was too late. The planet was destroyed, because of me."

"Spock," Kirk said gently, shifting slightly on the sofa as though to go over to the Vulcan but deciding the better of it for now, "it wasn't your fault."

Spock shook his head in bleak humour and Kirk and McCoy exchanged worried looks. They had expected him to break down like this straight after Nero, but it had never happened. Months had gone by, and they had dared to hope, foolishly, that he had managed to work through it in his own Vulcan way, with the help of his father. They never regretted that decision more than now.

"Nevertheless," the Vulcan muttered, "it happened. I cannot prevent it."

"Of course not," McCoy said. "It was an alternate timeline, an alternate reality. It was not _you_ who made the mistake."

Spock gazed into McCoy's eyes, his eyes haunted. "Doctor, you do not understand. If Nero had not altered the timeline, I would have made the mistake. _I_ would have failed."

"But you _can't_ anymore Spock," Kirk emphasised. "This is a different reality. It wasn't _you_. You haven't done anything."

"I understand the logic in your statement, Captain, but...it is difficult," he admitted. "There are...numerous possibilities, future occasions where a similar event may happen. Perhaps," he continued, looking into the fire, "with Romulus."

"Spock," McCoy said, almost desperately, seeing where this was going, "this is a different universe. It doesn't have to happen that way."

"Now that you know about it," Kirk added, "you can stop it from happening. I've heard that Romulus is already preparing."

"The odds of the success of their plans are not overly optimistic." He continued to gaze into the fire. "The odds that I will be once again summoned, only to fail..."

Kirk got up off the sofa at that, shuffling over to crouch in front of Spock. "Listen to me, Spock," he said firmly as McCoy joined him, "you don't know that for sure. You can't beat yourself up over what hasn't happened yet."

"Jim's right," McCoy added. "It isn't helping anybody, least of all you."

"It is not I who needs helping, but those affected, yet... I cannot give the lives back to those who died."

"No one's asking you to, Spock," Kirk said gently, placing a hand on the Vulcan's arm, keeping it there resolutely when Spock jumped slightly, unnoticeable to those who did not know him well. "You can't change the past, Spock, but you can change the future."

Spock nodded, although he did not look convinced. "That would seem to concur with the advice given to me."

McCoy and Kirk exchanged another look, which also went unseen by Spock. Finally, McCoy spoke, "What advice?"

"You wished to know, Doctor, why I did not sleep last night," Spock stated neutrally. "I experienced what you might call...a 'nightmare'."

"What about?" McCoy asked, before he could stop himself.

"I was given advice by Nero," Spock hedged, "dictating that I should...ask for assistance."

"That's why you came to us?" Kirk deduced.

Spock nodded. "I surmised, through my understanding of human psychology, that my subconscious was attempting to convey a message."

"You finally figured out that the Vulcan way wasn't working..." McCoy said gently.

"Precisely, Doctor."

"Looks like you can't bury your human half, Mister Spock." McCoy had intended it as his usual light hearted barb in an attempt to add humour to a morbid situation, but saw the moment that it left his mouth that this wasn't the right moment. Kirk had turned to give him an incredulous look, and Spock had immediately closed off.

"Despite the common misconception, Doctor, I am not divided into two sections," Spock said stonily. "My genetic makeup is comprised of two species, each co-existing with the other. I am hardly two separate entities inhabiting the same body."

"I...didn't mean it like that, Spock," McCoy said hastily, hardly believing that he had allowed something that inane out of his mouth at this moment.

Spock was beginning to struggle out of the armchair, finding the task difficult wrapped as he was in a large blanket and suffering from what appeared to be the Vulcan version of the flu. "I believe that I shall finish my homework assignments," he said stiffly, shuffling over to his bed where the school bag lay beside it.

McCoy scurried after him when Kirk gave him a small glare. "Spock...you _know_ that I would never mean that. I was only trying to lighten the conversation a bit."

Spock did not turn to face him. "Your efforts were misguided and ineffectual."

McCoy sighed and laid a hand on the Vulcan's arm, twirling him around, trying to ignore the burning feel of a body temperature which was too high. "Look, I know I'm not exactly the best person to try to cheer others up," he said, giving the man before him a self-deprecating smile, "but that was all I was trying to do. Believe me, Spock, I meant nothing else."

"I am not entirely convinced," Spock said slowly, turning his eyes up reluctantly to meet the physician's, "but in this case I must defer to your judgment." He nodded his head and allowed a small corner of his mouth to quirk upwards, for only the barest minimum of seconds. "It appears that I overreacted."

"Hell Spock," McCoy snorted, "if I were you I would have punched me in the mouth. As it was, I think you under-reacted."

"It was a tempting course of action," Spock admitted, but there was no animosity in his voice.

"Better than getting strangled, Bones," Kirk groused as he joined them, grinning at McCoy's expression.

McCoy grinned back but could feel Spock's muscles beginning to slacken in his grip. Glancing back at the man belonging to the arm which he was still gripping, he noticed with some concern that Spock's inner eyelids were half covering his eyeballs; a sign of exhaustion or illness in Vulcans.

Kirk gave a startled exclamation and moved over to grab Spock's other elbow, helping McCoy to slowly steer the Vulcan over to his bed. Spock briefly protested but then appeared to surrender himself to his fate; allowing the two humans to carefully lower him onto the soft mattress.

"Bones?"

"He's just worn out, Jim," McCoy answered, not missing the worried note in the other man's voice. He gave a glare at the Vulcan lying on the bed, but his heart was not really in the expression. "That's what happens when you combine being in the rain for hours with not enough rest."

"Will he be all right?"

McCoy nodded, but as he placed a hand on the Vulcan's burning forehead and noticed the glassy eyed stare which was half covered by the protective film of the inner eyelid, he didn't feel certain. "He should be...I don't know how Vulcans react to water."

A weary eyebrow climbed up the forehead. "Doctor, I hardly enjoy being compared to a chemical reaction between elements."

"Well," McCoy shot back, "you never enjoy anything..."

The other eyebrow joined its partner. "That is an untrue statement."

Kirk, despite his worry, grinned broadly. "Really?"

"Indeed. The sight of the Captain sexually stimulating a rather large squid was fascinating."

The two humans gaped.

Finally, McCoy managed to splutter, "Y'know Spock, I expected you to say something along the lines of 'occasionally a puzzle in logic is intellectually stimulating' or 'the variety of life forms which we have discovered are fascinating'...but nothing like that."

"You...enjoyed watching me turn on the giant squid?" Kirk finally managed to squawk in utter amazement, a large grin plastering itself under his nose.

"That is not what I said, Captain. I mentioned that it was a fascinating scientific observation, nothing more."

"Which is your own way for saying you like it," Kirk pushed.

"I have no opinion on the matter."

"Maybe he's delirious," McCoy muttered hopefully.

"I assure you Doctor that I am in full possession of my faculties."

"Shut up!" McCoy suddenly snapped. "Don't make this any worse than it actually is!"

At this, Spock's expression turned into a confused frown and he raised himself onto one elbow to stare intently at the disgruntled human. "Have I offended you, Doctor?"

"Of course you have, you green blooded hobgoblin!" McCoy was unsure whether to laugh at the entire conversation, or run away screaming. "If I thought you were delirious, then the comment about the giant squid wouldn't have disturbed me nearly as much as it is now!"

"I apologise for your discomfort, Doctor, however I was merely stating the truth."

"You don't have to tell the truth _all the time_, Spock, _especially_ if it involves Jim turning on giant squid."

"I shall attempt to remember that advice," Spock said seriously, lowering himself back onto the soft pillow, "in the event that the situation should arise at a later date."

"Good God man, don't do this to me!" McCoy wailed, already suffering from the mental images that this had conjured.

Kirk guffawed and slapped his Vulcan friend on the shoulder. "You've really done it this time Spock."

"Indeed."

"How in blue blazes," McCoy moaned, massaging his temples, "am I supposed to get this out of my head?"

"That's easy Bones," Kirk said cheerfully, "just picture Spock pole dancing."

"Good _God_ Jim _that is not helping_," McCoy snarled.

Spock was regarding the Captain with an expression closely resembling insult. "Captain, I assure you that I would not engage in such an activity."

Kirk shrugged. "I can dream, can't I?"

"DAMN IT JIM!"

Kirk ducked as McCoy threw a pillow at him. "Alright," he said loudly, holding his hands up in the air in a placating gesture, "I'll stop."

"You damn well better," McCoy hissed, coming back to the Vulcan's side. "Well Jim," he announced, trying to get his voice as much back to normal as he could currently muster, given his recent shock, "since he's antagonising me," he shot a glare at Spock who gazed innocently back, "I think it's a safe bet to say he'll be absolutely fine."

"A fortunate outcome," Spock said, "as a medicinal remedy would not be found in this castle at any rate."

"That's true," Kirk muttered.

"Has this happened to you before?" McCoy asked.

Spock nodded. "Occasionally, during my training as a cadet. Fortunately, I adapted quickly to the compulsory water based training programs." He began to lever himself off the bed, but McCoy's hands stopped him.

"Where do you think you're going?"

"I must finish my homework assignments."

"Spock, you need to just stay put," McCoy said, his voice filled with authority. "You'll recover quicker that way."

"I have sufficiently rested."

"Oh really?" McCoy asked sceptically. "Tell me; are you a doctor, Mister Spock?"

Spock gave him a look that clearly screamed the words 'illogical'. "Judging from the fact that I am currently Science Officer, I would assume not."

McCoy resisted the urge to shake him. "I'll be the judge of your health then, thank you very much."

"Doctor, I assure you that I have received much experience in this area. My metabolism is therefore well versed in an efficient recovery and I believe that my time will be better spent completing my homework assignments."

"Not on my watch," McCoy said. "You're staying put, Mister Spock, even if I have to sit on you!"

The Vulcan appeared to consider for a moment before leaning back in resignation. "Since I have no desire to suffer those consequences, I will submit to your judgement."

McCoy nodded in satisfaction. "Good. Now try and get some sleep."

Spock carried on staring at him, and made no move to even attempt to sleep. Kirk sighed gently. "Spock-"

"How long have these nightmares lasted?" McCoy interrupted, the psychologist in him kicking in immediately.

The dreaded eyebrow rose once more. "I am uncertain of their duration, Doctor, since I am unfortunately not in a state of consciousness when they occur. Therefore, I cannot give you an exact statistic."

"That's not what I meant, Spock, and you know it," McCoy snapped.

The Vulcan sighed, looking defeated. "The nightmares have been occurring since the destruction of Vulcan."

"How often?" McCoy pressed.

"They are infrequent."

"Infrequent enough for you to decide that they weren't a problem?" McCoy asked. "You should have told me; I'm your Doctor, damn it! How do you expect me to help if you don't even trust me enough to ask?"

"It was not a question of trust, Doctor. I had believed that they were sufficiently under control."

"Sufficient control my ass!"

Spock's mouth twitched. "I would rather not."

McCoy stared at him. "Are you trying," he said with slow menace, "to keep these images in my head?"

Kirk chortled. "You have to admit that you have really funny reactions though. No wonder he tries to give you weird mental pictures."

"I am most certainly not endeavouring to give the Doctor permanent mental issues," Spock said, though he did not sound entirely convincing to their ears.

Kirk grinned at him. "You really are full of surprises, Spock."

"Don't encourage him," McCoy half snapped half groaned, clearly having given up this battle.

Kirk's smile never wavered. "Maybe we should just get on with our own homework, Bones, before we keep Spock up much longer with all this arguing."

McCoy glanced at the Vulcan, who was regarding them sleepily. "Good idea," he said finally, nodding his agreement in Kirk's general direction. "Good night, Spock."

"Good night." The customary reply sounded slightly stilted coming from Spock's lips, which clearly were still not used to such pleasantries, having grown up on a planet where these phrases were rarely used since they had no practical use.

They shuffled over quietly to a small table, bringing their schoolbags and homework with them. As they spread the parchment out over the smooth, wooden surface, McCoy couldn't help but feel apprehensive as he got out the first textbook of the evening and squinted at the hastily jotted down notes on a crumpled piece of parchment, detailing what they had to do.

"We should have homework planners," McCoy grumbled.

Kirk, giving him a funny look, placed a small book on the table and flicked it open to the appropriate page, reading the carefully written instructions. "We do," he said, gesturing his planner.

McCoy stared at him. "Where did you get that from?"

"This room," Kirk replied casually.

"Where?"

"That drawer over there," Kirk muttered vaguely as he opened his textbook and began reading through the jumble of words.

"Jim, could you be any vaguer?"

"I could," Kirk said mischievously, "but I thought that my more helpful speech patterns would be better."

"You call that more helpful?"

"Of course." He rolled his eyes at the physician's expression. "The planner was only in the drawer yesterday, Bones, after lessons."

"You asked the room for it, didn't you?"

"What else would I do?" Kirk asked, giving McCoy a slightly funny look but smirking.

"Damn it, why didn't I think of that?" McCoy grumbled, getting up and pawing through the drawer that Kirk had indicated earlier. "Since when have you been so organised?"

"I've always been this organised."

McCoy snorted, flopping back into the chair empty handed. "Jim, this is _me_ you're talking to. You used to leave pieces of paper strewn across our quarters back at the Academy. I still remember you hoovering the whole place just so you could pick them up and organise them faster the night before the test."

"Which," Kirk insisted playfully, "was a pretty inspired and _organised_ idea. No one else would have thought of that."

"No one else would have left it until the night before the test," McCoy added.

"I'm unique in my approach," Kirk said dramatically.

"You can say that again."

"Well...I passed, didn't I?"

"With flying colours," McCoy grouched. "That's what I don't understand Jim. You never revised until the night before and you were hardly ever on top of your work. How did you manage to remember everything?"

"A good magician never reveals his secrets," Kirk said enigmatically. He tapped his head lightly with the end of his quill. "Although maybe it was due to a photographic memory."

McCoy snorted again and grimaced. "Trust you to come up with something like that."

"I'm just gifted in that way," Kirk teased. He frowned at his textbook and then back at his instructions. "Bones, do you know what the "colloshoo" spell is?"

"Doesn't it mention it in the text book?"

Kirk nodded. "It does, but it doesn't really fit in with what we were doing in the lesson."

"Well? What is it?"

Kirk was staring at the paper. "It glues shoes to the ground...well, that explains the name."

McCoy stared at him. "Don't they have more important things to ask us to do for homework?"

Kirk shrugged. "It could be useful in a battle. I know a few times where it could have saved me from injuries."

"So do I," McCoy agreed sardonically. "If only I could use that magic in our universe, I'd finally be able to keep you in sickbay."

"There's a reason I run out of sickbay," Kirk said.

"You're scared of my hypos."

"...Not just that."

"You're scared of my hypos, Jim, so don't try to deny it," McCoy grinned. "What do we have to do for this Collyshee thing anyway?"

"Colloshoo," Kirk corrected absently. "We have to list its advantages and then practice it for next lesson."

"We can't do that without wands."

"I'm really tempted to try it anyway..."

McCoy's eyebrows climbed skyward. "With what? A stick?"

"What else?" Kirk grinned. Standing up, he moved over to another drawer and began rummaging around in it, finally producing a stick with a triumphant expression and sinking back into his chair.

McCoy shook his head in amusement at his friend's half baked scheme. "Jim, this isn't going to work. Wands probably have something inside them that sticks don't, otherwise anybody could perform magic."

"Where there's a will there's a way," Kirk said, grinning, though he was clearly doing this for his own amusement.

For the next five minutes, the room was punctuated by McCoy's snorts as Kirk put on an elaborate show in his futile efforts to perform magic with a simple stick.

"Where did you find that, anyway?" McCoy asked when Kirk had finished flicking the stick around randomly.

"Outside, obviously."

McCoy sighed as Kirk pointed the stick at his feet and muttered "Colloshoo."

"Stop being an idiot Jim, we need to finish these essays..." He looked up when silence met his remark, and was astounded to see that Kirk was staring at him with wide eyes. "What?"

"It worked..." Kirk whispered in awe, trying to move his feet but failing spectacularly.

"What?" McCoy asked incredulously, peering at the ordinary look of feet.

"No," Kirk sighed, flopping down at the table in defeat. "I just thought that your reaction would have been funny..." He eyed the doctor, "though you're too used to weird things happening in this universe now to care about anything else."

"Damn right," McCoy asserted, glad that the Captain had only been performing the 'magic' to try to get a reaction from him, and not because he had finally gone round the twist and believed that he could actually perform it. "You outdid yourself this time, Jim, but it would have helped you if I hadn't known that it was impossible for us to do magic without a proper wand."

"Damn...how did you remember that?"

"Two things," McCoy chuckled. "One; common sense. Two; it says so right here on this page."

Kirk scowled and rolled his eyes. "This is what I get for trying to make April Fool's Day come early..."

McCoy shook his head in amusement and slid Kirk's abandoned book across the table. "Just finish the essays, Jim, before Spock decides to wake up and try to help us."

oOo

_Sighing, Scott stepped out of the classroom and quietly hoped that he would be able to remember all that had been taught. He was no expert on culture or language, but this course was mandatory for those who wanted to serve in deep space, so that they could better communicate with other life forms. Needless to say, he was struggling with some of the pronunciation, particularly Tellarite. There were some in the class who were more than competent; who could simply remember the given phrases with seemingly no effort on their part, reciting them back to their delighted professor with a perfect accent. _

_Glancing at one of those people as he walked back to his quarters, Scott wished not for the first time that he could do the same. Then his life would be so much easier. He smiled wryly as he reflected on the fact that technically, he __**could**__ ask Nyota Uhura for her help...but she'd be unlikely to give it to him. _

_**Especially**__ because he had laughed when she had been attempting to fend off an excitable young cadet by the name of Kirk. In fact he was certain, one hundred per cent sure, that that was why she hated him. Why else would she glare at him every time he walked past?_

_He grinned at himself and ducked into his quarters, chuckling slightly in good humour as he remembered all of the times that he had witnessed yet another of Kirk's failed pick up attempts. It certainly hadn't helped the young cadet's case that he seemed to have a Vulcan instructor out to get him. If Scott didn't know better, he'd say that the Vulcan was in love with Uhura. _

_Of course, he knew better._

_Throwing his school bag onto his bed, he noticed with a frown that Tohn was not yet back from his Advanced Physics class, which usually finished before his. Shrugging, Scott picked up a pen and text book, then silently headed for the library to revise the new machinery that they had been shown in his mechanics class. _

_If there was such thing as a tailor made subject, this was his. He always understood the new blueprints of technology and explanations that went with it perfectly, while several others in his class visibly struggled with the occasionally complicated makeup of the machines. While the professor explained it to them quietly, Scott was always one of the few who sat in his seat sedately, flicking through the text book until he found an invention that particularly interested him before immersing himself in it completely, surfacing only when the professor began actively teaching the class again. He was always one step ahead and had already decided that he was going to be Chief Engineer, if he could help it. He just didn't know where yet. That would depend upon his exam results at the end of the Academy. _

_He weaved through the cluttered corridors expertly, avoiding large groups of mingling students and waggling his eyebrows at a few female cadets. Winking at one, he swiped the sandwich of an old friend from high school, munching on it happily as the aforementioned friend yelled after him in amusement. _

_Well, he should know by now that eating a sandwich anywhere near Scott's quarters was just asking for trouble. How could he deny expectations by leaving the food in the hands of his friend?_

_He was just about to enter the large library when two cadets whom he recognised stepped in front of him, the burlier one, "Cupcake" – according to the rumour mill which seemed to hover consistently around Jim Kirk – looking him in the eyes. _

_"Can I help ye, Cupcake?" Scott asked cheerfully, swallowing the last mouthful of cheese and tomato sandwich. _

_"I told you to stop calling me that," the cadet snarled in annoyance. _

_Scott shrugged. "Ye just suit it so well; I thought it would be a shame to deny you such a good nickname."_

_Cupcake snorted but didn't press the point, since they had already gone over it several times before. "Are you still talking to that...Tohn?"_

_Scott stiffened at the way that Cupcake said the name; as though the very syllables would kill him and he wanted to hide it in as much disgust as possible. While his tone was belligerent, there was a hint of fear lying beneath it. "Yes. What of it?"_

_"You shouldn't," the other cadet piped up. He was called Thomas Harrison; a muscled, short young man with a spiky hair do. Scotty had always privately thought of him as an over grown hedgehog, though for health and safety reasons had never actually told the man that. "He's a nasty piece of work."_

_"Tohn?" Scott chuckled in disbelief. "He would nae hurt a fly!"_

_"And how long have you known him, exactly?" Cupcake asked pointedly. _

_"Just over two months," he replied, not really seeing how this was relevant in any way. _

_"You better stop talking to him before you reach five," Harrison warned. _

_Scott's eyes narrowed. "And how would I do that? He's in the same quarters as me."_

_Cupcake rolled his eyes. "Don't ask stupid questions, just do it!"_

_"Why?"_

_"Because," Cupcake explained with exaggerated patience, "he'll get you."_

_Scott blinked. He hadn't figured that Cupcake was the paranoid type. "Get me?"_

_"Jesus!" Harrison suddenly swore, looking exasperated, "don't you ever listen in Cultural Studies?"_

_"No..." Not for the first time after those lessons, he felt like he'd missed something. _

_"Five months is when a Gaaran opens his mind to a person that they know. Sort of like...Vulcan telepathic voodoo."_

_"What are ye talking about?"_

_Cupcake sighed and started over. "You share quarters with Tohn. Would you say that you two are close?"_

_"Of course."_

_"Then you're in trouble," the burly man continued, matter of fact, "because Gaarans form a telepathic link with people they consider to be friends."_

_Scott shrugged. "So? It's just a telepathic link; it is nae going to kill me, is it?"_

_"Actually," Harrison said sharply, "it might."_

_"You see," Cupcake jumped in before Scott could protest, "some minds are incompatible, and when that happens...poof!" He made a sprinkling gesture with his hands. Scott didn't know whether to laugh or be intimidated by the look of pure fear on his face. "The minds both break down and the two involved are left insane."_

_"Oh come on," Scott scoffed. "The Vulcans are telepaths and they don't go insane."_

_"Gaarans are not Vulcans," Harrison said as if this was obvious which, Scott had to admit, it was, but he wasn't going to say that. "Vulcans have more control over their abilities, from what we know, and Gaarans don't have any rules on mental contact. He could have been in telepathic contact with you already; a light touch."_

_"I would have felt it."_

_"If you're psi nul, that would be impossible."_

_Scott stared at them both. "How do ye know so much about this?" He peered at them. "Are ye making this up?"_

_"Of course we're not bloody making it up!" Harrison snarled. _

_"You have to get out," Cupcake insisted. _

_"Why do ye care about what I do?" Scott questioned in sudden suspicion. "Ye do nae know me."_

_Cupcake's eyes gained a suddenly haunted quality. "I've seen what telepathy can do in the wrong hands," he suddenly whispered, as though he didn't want the corridor to hear, "and I wouldn't wish it on anybody, even you."_

_"Well that's flattering."_

_"I'm serious. I've seen it, Scott, and trust me, you won't like it. You won't remember anything, won't recognise anybody," he swallowed, almost imperceptible but Scott saw it, "even your family. Get out," he advised. Giving the dumbstruck Scotsman a knowing nod, he ambled away as casually as he could, trying not to draw suspicion to their conversation. _

_Numbly, textbook in his hand forgotten, Scott drifted through the crowds, almost like a wraith, until he was standing once more outside the door to his quarters. He blinked, not having remembered getting there, but then shrugged and walked in. _

_Tohn was sitting calmly on his bed, long hair framing his face as he leaned forward, bent over what looked like his physics text book. His brow was furrowed in a slight frown as he mulled over the complicated equations strewn across the page, his hand darting out to the side every now and then to jot something down. _

_He looked up and smiled when he heard the door open, but did not set aside his book. He was capable of both holding a conversation and finishing high standard work. At the same time. Personally, Scott could not understand how he managed, but apparently it was a trait that all Gaarans shared. _

"_Nice of you to show up," Tohn teased, not looking up as Scott sat numbly down on the bed parallel to his. _

"_I ran into Cupcake and Harrison," Scott said vaguely, still mulling over what they had said and trying to imagine the cadet next to him knowingly violating someone's mind as they suggested that he had. _

_Tohn snorted. "Those two. They think they rule the roost. They didn't hurt you did they?"_

"_No."_

"_That's lucky," Tohn said lightly. "You want to watch out for Harrison's right hooks. They smart."_

_Scott whipped his head around to stare at the other man on the bed, who was flipping unconcernedly through his notes. "They've attacked ye before?"_

_Tohn shrugged. "Of course. I'm a different species, aren't I? When people are scared of the unknown, they lash out." He finally looked up and smiled reassuringly at Scott. "Don't worry, I can defend myself."_

_That was anything but reassuring, as Cupcake's anguished expression reverberated in Scott's mind. _

_Tohn, appearing to notice, finally put down his work and fixed the other cadet with his full attention. "Are you alright? You look like you've seen a poltergeist."_

"_Ghost," Scott corrected absently. _

_Tohn blinked. "I didn't know they existed."_

"_No," Scott chuckled despite himself, but it was half hearted. "The phrase is 'ye look like ye've seen a ghost'."_

_Tohn rolled his eyes and waved his hand vaguely. "Give me a chance! I can't learn ALL of your idioms at once!" He sobered abruptly, fixing Scott with a worried stare. Scott, slightly unnerved by this, could only stare back, not saying anything. "Seriously; are you alright?"_

"_I'm fine."_

_Tohn sighed and moved onto Scott's bed. The human tried desperately to stifle his flinch, but only partially succeeded. "Is it me?" Tohn asked suddenly. "They told you." It was not a question. _

"_Yeah..." Scott admitted, knowing that it was impossible to lie to Tohn. _

_Tohn sighed and placed his hands on both of Scott's shoulders, ignoring the human as he blinked in surprise. "Believe me, I would never do that to you."_

"_So...it is possible?"_

_The cadet looked a bizarre mixture of embarrassed and terrified. "I shouldn't have said that..." he coughed slightly but then re-made eye contact. "But yes, it's possible. Don't worry, I've checked. Our minds are compatible."_

_Scott blinked at him, but surprisingly felt no anger or terror, only mild surprise. "Ye looked into my mind without asking me?"_

"_I had to," Tohn shrugged, "otherwise your natural defences would have stopped me. I've tried that one before. Your mind, by the way, is a very nice place to be."_

"_How deep did you go?"_

"_Not very. Only far enough to find out that your passions are sandwiches and engineering, but anyone knows that," he smirked. "If I ever did form a link with you though, Scotty, I'd ask you. You know that."_

"_Yeah..." he replied dubiously, not entirely convinced that it was a good idea. _

"_I know that it seems terrifying, because it's new. Even the Vulcans find it strange," Tohn said wryly, "because we don't have any telepathic code like they do, but you'll get used to it. I can always stop doing it if you want."_

"_How much have ye been doing it?"_

"_Only when I want to see if you're alright, or telling the truth."_

"_Of course I tell the truth, Tohn."_

_Tohn grinned. "I know that, but it's a custom of my people. There used to be a huge problem with deceit and civil war before we gained a telepathic ability. I guess you could say our paranoia helped us to evolve...so, do you want me to stop?"_

_Scott thought about it for a moment and then nodded. "Yes. But," he added, looking up at Tohn's slightly disappointed shift in posture, "maybe one day..."_

"_Gotcha," Tohn said cheerfully. "From now on, I'll give you warning if I need to look into your mind, and you can refuse if you want. Deal?"_

"_Yeah..." Scott said, wondering if he actually would be able to refuse if he didn't know that Tohn was there in the first place, "deal."_


	14. Blood Blisterpods

**14. Blood Blisterpods.**

The next two weeks passed reasonably uneventfully, aside from the fact that Spock seemed completely incapable of keeping away from Umbridge's detentions. After a constant week of detention and struggle to fit in time for Quidditch practice for his own team and homework, Kirk and McCoy could deny Spock's situation no longer. Together, they cornered Spock when he came back into the Room of Requirement after yet another evening with Umbridge, determined glares on their faces.

"Spock," Kirk said with as much force as he could muster, "you have to stop getting detentions from her."

"It is unavoidable."

"No," Kirk said, his eyes flashing. "It's not. I don't care what you believe, Mister Spock, but you can't keep antagonizing her! I know she's completely out of line-"

"-and bigoted-" McCoy added.

"- but you barely have any time after she's finished with you! You can't keep neglecting your studies like this. As you said, we need to know as much about this universe as possible, and with you in constant detention it just isn't happening."

"Captain-"

"No arguments!" Kirk exclaimed. "I listened to you the first few times, even agreed with you...but it can't go on... I thought you controlled your emotions!"

"I do," Spock said stiffly. "It is not out of emotion that I contradict her statements, but-"

"Spare us," McCoy said. "We know why you're doing it Spock, but you can't. Surely you understand the logic of this?"

"Of course, Doctor." He sounded vaguely insulted and McCoy had to duck his head to avoid showing the Vulcan an affectionate smile that had rebelliously sprung onto his face. Kirk had managed to remain appropriately grim faced, however, and McCoy could hear the rant continuing even as he stared.

"Spock," he finally said quietly, reaching out, "what's that on your hand?"

"I beg your pardon?" Spock asked, completely distracted from Kirk's abruptly halted reprimand.

"There's something on your hand."

Spock stiffened and immediately began to move his hands out of sight, behind his back in his customary stance, before McCoy caught a hold of it. "No you don't. What's so important that you want to hide it?" When Spock didn't answer, McCoy dragged him unapologetically further into the light and yanked his hand up to examine it, almost dropping it in shock.

The words "I shall keep my place" were now ingrained firmly into the Vulcan's hand, the wounds a deep and slightly angry shade of green, beads of blood still trickling over the rest of the skin.

"That's your handwriting!"

Kirk immediately came over. "What?" McCoy shoved Spock's hand into the Captain's face. "Spock...how did this happen?"

"You're not getting out of this one, you green blooded hobgoblin," McCoy said angrily when Spock didn't answer. "Did Umbridge do this?"

"Not directly," Spock hedged.

"Then _how?_" Kirk snapped uncharacteristically.

"I trust that you are familiar with the Earth tradition of 'writing lines'?"

"Good God," McCoy spluttered, "did she make you carve it into your hand?"

"Doctor, perhaps you should allow me to complete my explanation before you make a conclusion." He paused for a few moments before carrying on, McCoy seething silently but letting him finish. "Professor Umbridge gave me a quill with which to write the lines. However, I did not discover until I attempted to use it that, in order for it to function, it draws the blood of an individual as a substitute for ink. In doing so, the words written are engraved onto the skin."

There was a pregnant pause.

"WHY?" McCoy finally demanded.

"Professor Umbridge is of the opinion that it increases the learning capacity of the individual."

"Through inflicted pain?"

"It is a method much cultivated on Earth, Doctor," Spock said emotionlessly, as though they were discussing the weather.

"Not like this," Kirk said, still staring at the hand which McCoy was now waving about in the air to emphasise his point.

"This..." the hand jerked, "is..." McCoy propelled it furiously around him, almost making the Vulcan fall over, "a _school!_"

Spock sighed slightly and attempted to disengage his hand but McCoy seemed reluctant to let it go. "Indeed it is, Doctor. However, Professor Umbridge has been granted the power to punish students as she believes appropriate."

"We'll have to go to Professor Dumbledore," Kirk said decisively.

"He is unable to put a halt to the practice."

"How do you know?" McCoy asked angrily, jerking Spock's hand once more and missing the Vulcan's brief wince of pain as his wound was jabbed. "Have you asked?"

"Negative. However, I believe that Miss Granger and Mister Weasley have previously attempted to persuade Mister Potter to do so."

"They're _teenagers_, Spock!" McCoy almost yelled in exasperation. "Of course they're not going to go to the Headmaster!"

"Doctor, it does not appear that you have understood."

"Of course I don't bloody understand, you gormless computerized elf!"

Kirk looked confused. "What's 'gormless'?"

"Definitively speaking," Spock said, "it means 'unintelligent or lacking initiative'."

"Well you really outdid yourself on that one, Bones," Kirk said cheerfully. "You're so angry you're inventing words."

"That term is not of the Doctor's invention, Captain. It originates in Britain."

"This place is rubbing off on you, Bones."

"Don't change the subject!" McCoy suddenly screeched, flapping Spock's hand in Kirk's direction.

Spock, for his part, seemed to have finally had enough. "Doctor, I must request that you cease waving my hand about in that fashion."

McCoy looked slightly surprised to see that he hadn't let go and dropped it suddenly. "Sorry..."

"Bones is right, Spock, you have to tell Professor Dumbledore."

"As I was attempting to explain earlier," Spock said calmly, "that is not possible, as Professor Dumbledore does not have direct control over Professor Umbridge's activities. That is why Mister Potter could not inform him."

"Damn it," McCoy cursed. "That over puffed jumped up toad!"

"Although I must commend you on the creativity of your insults, Doctor, I must remind you that emotionalism will not solve the problem."

"Exactly!" Kirk said loudly, immediately pouncing on this. "So stop getting into detentions in the first place. And that's an order," he added for good measure when Spock looked like he was going to argue.

"I shall endeavour to do so, Captain," Spock finally conceded. "However, I must impress upon you the importance of lack of protest."

"You can't expect us to just sit back and do nothing," McCoy protested.

"That is exactly what I expect, Doctor," Spock said, his eyes steely even if his voice did not betray it. "There is no course of action to prevent her from utilising that form of punishment. We have no authority over her."

"Spock-"

"Captain," Spock interrupted Kirk uncharacteristically, "I do not make this request lightly. If she believes us to be revealing too much information about her teaching methods, she may attempt to remove us from the grounds."

"By Merlin's baggiest Y fronts," McCoy snarled, "I'll stop her from doing this!"

"You've been here too long," Kirk said in amusement at McCoy's latest phrase.

"Damn it Jim, are you on my side or not?"

"Of course I am!" Kirk exclaimed, looking slightly affronted.

"Doctor, you are being highly illogical," Spock said in a slightly exasperated tone of voice.

McCoy rounded on him immediately, his eyes flashing. "I'd have thought you would have realised by now," he hissed, "that calling a human illogical is not a logical practice, Mister Spock, as you should expect us to act that way. Furthermore," he rambled on, waving his finger for emphasis and ignoring Kirk's dumbfounded expression, "it is a waste of energy as everyone knows the statement to be true. Therefore, every time you call a human being – namely me- illogical, you are in fact disregarding logic."

There was a silence, during which if Spock had been human his jaw would have hit the ground at this unexpected development.

Finally, Kirk chuckled. "He's got you there, Spock."

The Vulcan was not at a loss for words for long, however. "Your attempt at logic is, although commendable, flawed. It is logical for me to remind you that you are being illogical in order for you to cease wasting your energies in such a way. It is hardly through fault of mine that you do not adhere to my advice. I have cited what I believe to be the logical course of action and you refuse to listen."

"Just like we told you not to get more detention and yet you did so anyway!" McCoy retorted angrily.

"Alright," Kirk said, holding up both hands in an attempt to placate his friends who seemed to be on the verge of blows, "just...stop calling each other illogical using logic, will you? You're both tying yourselves up in knots."

"Such an action would be both logistically and physically impossible."

"Spock, seriously," Kirk said in amused exasperation. "Stop the logic. You'll make Bones explode." He sighed and looked at them both when they stopped insulting each other. "Thank you. Now, we'll make a pact otherwise we'll be arguing until midnight."

"What do you propose?" Despite himself, Spock sounded curious.

"As long as you insist upon _illogically_," Kirk said, stressing the word with a teasing grin on his face, "getting into detention, Bones and I will not insist upon _illogically_ telling Professor Dumbledore."

"That is a remarkably sound conclusion, Captain."

"Jim, a moment ago you were as outraged as me!"

"I know," Kirk conceded, "but if what Spock says is true, then Professor Dumbledore really can't do anything, and-"

"How do we know Spock's right?" McCoy interrupted.

"Because," Kirk said calmly, "he never lies...well almost never, I mean, he implies stuff...and only mentions something when he's sure of his facts."

"Oh wonderful. And if this is one of the occasions when he's 'implying'?"

"I am not, Doctor."

"Of course you'd say that," McCoy snapped.

"Anyway," Kirk interrupted loudly before yet another argument could get rolling, "we can't risk her kicking us out."

"It is gratifying to see that you understand, Captain."

McCoy looked furious, but Kirk cut in again. "Besides, I ordered Spock not to get into more trouble, so we won't even have to think about telling Professor Dumbledore again."

"Unless he decides that it's 'logical' to disobey you," McCoy spat. "Lord knows he's done that a few times."

"Well..." Kirk said eventually, clearly struggling to wrap this matter up, "we'll just have to hope he doesn't. But either way, we can't let this discussion past these walls. We can't get chucked out the castle." He peered at McCoy who was grumbling under his breath. "Bones? Do I have your word on this or do I have to order you not to tell anyone?"

With an uttered oath, McCoy finally nodded. "Fine."

"Thank you, Doctor," Spock said.

McCoy glared at him. "I agreed with you, Mister Spock, but that doesn't mean I have to like it!"

"As long as you don't try and murder her with a broom..." Kirk muttered.

"Trust me Jim, I'd enjoy it if I could."

With the discussion closed, they had kept their word and not informed Dumbledore of what actually went on behind the classroom doors in Umbridge's class, although for several more days McCoy's expression would darken considerably whenever he saw the raw and bleeding skin on the back of Spock's hand. Umbridge, for her part, seemed to have successfully squashed any previous feelings that she had felt towards Spock, now treating him as though he were a bug barely even worth stepping on. It seems that, despite having originally liked him even though she held certain prejudices, she had finally given in under the barrage of logical insults which assaulted her in every lesson.

McCoy had for his part stuck to his promise to help Spock out with the research as much as possible, although he had to admit that he spent much of his time struggling to figure out what everything meant. Still, Spock no longer had to try to do everything by himself, and even though neither McCoy nor Kirk completely understood the complicated library books that Spock was constantly buried in, they busied themselves with making notes whenever appropriate so that Spock did not have to sift through all of the information himself. In fact, McCoy had noticed with a relieved physician's eye that Spock seemed to have completely recovered from his earlier illness, due to a combination of not going outside in stormy weather – something that McCoy forcibly ensured happened – and help with research. He no longer stayed up late into the night scribbling down notes and frankly, McCoy couldn't be happier.

It meant he had more time to annoy the man, which he enjoyed doing despite himself, though he would never admit it.

Kirk had been a different matter altogether. Despite not having made it onto the direct Quidditch team, he had been determined beyond all persuasion that constant practice was going to hone his skills into levels necessary. Consequently, he had been sneaking out of the Great Hall halfway through mealtimes, having shoved as much food down his throat as humanly possible in such a short space of time, to practice his flying. Although it had gotten undeniably better, that much McCoy knew from Kirk constantly flying past the Room of Requirement window, his schoolwork was beginning to suffer. In fact, he had recently received a "Troll" grade from a very disgusted looking Snape on their latest essay question. Snape had then proceeded to lecture Kirk on the merits of academic study, sneered at him when he found out that he had been shirking this for Quidditch, and generally insulted the Captain's intellect in general. His anger only appeared to be made worse by Kirk's argument that he remembered a lot more in other teacher's classes, and that it was not his fault that chemistry was naturally his worst subject.

McCoy rolled his eyes at the thought of the taciturn Potions Master. No matter how much he tried, he could simply not bring himself to like the man, not even close, although Spock had said that he was merely doing his job. The Vulcan had, needless to say, received very strange looks for that statement and a slightly insulted grunt on the part of the Captain.

Another interesting fact was that they received no trouble whatsoever from Malfoy or any other Slytherins, at least when Spock was around. When they were alone, the occasional hex was sent their way in order to make them drop their books or fall down the stairs, but nothing major enough to warrant any worry. Yet Malfoy still seemed to target the three Gryffindor students whom they had befriended; perhaps because he knew that Spock could do little to protect them. In fact, it was only Spock's very obviously close friendship with the two Star Fleet officers that kept Kirk and McCoy from finding themselves dangling upside down from the Whomping Willow, as had been threatened at the beginning of the year.

It was with this thought in mind that Kirk and McCoy sat down at the Gryffindor table, silently marvelling at the fact that Malfoy had refrained from insulting them as they had entered the Great Hall with Spock in tow. They still could not get used to it, but they were relieved that they did not have to endure snide references to their non-magical origins any longer. Apparently, a talk with Malfoy on Spock's part had put a stop to that.

Ron, who had been munching contentedly on a piece of food, stared at Malfoy, having noticed the odd behaviour patterns as their entrances to the Great Hall had coincided. "Mental, that one," he murmured, his cheeks bulging like a chipmunk.

"Normally he would have insulted everyone at our table by now," Harry added suspiciously, staring at the blond who was smirking back at them.

Kirk shrugged unconcernedly, shovelling a forkful of food into his gaping mouth. "Spock talked to him."

Harry was staring at him, a fork halfway to his mouth. "He talked to Malfoy?"

"Yeah," Kirk grunted back as he swallowed a painful amount of food at once. "He told him to stop victimising us so much, apparently."

"Mental," Ron repeated, shaking his head now. "Imagine having that talk with Malfoy!"

"Yeah," Harry agreed heartily, glancing back at the Slytherin table, where Malfoy was apparently in deep conversation with Spock once again. "Your friend surprises me."

"He surprises everyone," McCoy muttered darkly, taking a bite of his own meal, which was heart wrenchingly close to what he used to eat at home, before he had joined Star Fleet.

"One minute," Harry continued, as though he was talking to himself, "he's over there with the Slytherins and the next he's defending Gryffindors in front of Umbridge."

"She's evil," Ron said as if that explained everything. "No wonder he wants to constantly argue with her."

"None of the other Slytherins do it though, Ron," Hermione pointed out reasonably. "Spock seems different to the others."

"Aside from the obvious, you mean."

"Ron!"

"What?" Ron asked, completely innocent. "He is!"

"That doesn't mean that you have to be so tactless," Hermione hissed, giving Kirk and McCoy a glance.

Ron, finally realising what he had done, blushed sheepishly. "Sorry."

"You need to learn to think before you speak," Hermione admonished, though she looked slightly less angry now that he had apologised.

"It's alright," Kirk said, shrugging, "Bones insults him like that all the time."

"Not in seriousness though," McCoy said defensively.

"It looks serious," Harry pointed out.

"They're great friends really," Kirk said cheerfully, slapping McCoy on the shoulder. "They just pretend not to be. I think they find it more entertaining that way."

"Damn right it's more entertaining."

Kirk laughed along with the Gryffindors, pausing only to shove more food into his mouth, making McCoy grimace in disgust. "Damn it, Jim, I don't want to see your tonsils when you eat."

"You're a doctor, not a dentist."

McCoy scowled. "I know that, and how many times have I told you not to steal my catchphrases?"

"They're good!" Kirk protested, grinning at him with falsely innocent wide eyes.

"Get your own," he snapped, but there was a twinkle in the depths of his grumpy eyes.

The background argument of Hermione versus Harry and Ron on the subject of homework was cut off abruptly as the morning post arrived on the leg of a madly screeching owl. McCoy desperately lifted his food off the table in an attempt to protect it from getting spilt everywhere as it had been last time, but instead the owl landed in it.

McCoy scowled and shook it hard, hoping to knock the owl off but eventually giving up and setting it back onto the table. "Why me?"

"You're a fun target, Bones."

"Shut up." He sighed morosely as the owl hopped off the food cheerfully, oblivious to the destruction that it had caused. No one else had batted an eye at the whole fiasco. "Well, that's my breakfast ruined."

Kirk rolled his eyes and swapped plates with his friend. "Here."

McCoy's eyes boggled. "You're not seriously considering _eating_ that, are you?"

"Why not?" Kirk shrugged, digging in. "It's delicious."

"Damn it Jim, you don't know where that owl's been!"

"Which is exactly why I don't want you to tell me. I'm much happier just eating this stuff without knowing what's on it, thanks. Anyway, you can't let good food go to waste like that, Bones."

"You disgust me."

"You love it really," Kirk said, grinning through a full mouth and showing off all of the mashed food inside.

McCoy scrunched his eyes shut. "Maybe disgust is too nice a word."

"You're a _surgeon_ and you think _this_ is disgusting? You need to get your priorities right."

McCoy was about to retort, when something in the Gryffindors' conversation caught his attention. "Mass murderer?"

Harry nodded. "My Godfather."

"Your godfather is a mass murderer?"

Harry, who had been absently replying to McCoy's questions, finally turned to look at the physician with that remark. "No, not really. He got framed."

"Keep your voice down," Hermione hissed.

Ron rolled his eyes at her. "He has to tell them."

"Yes, but he doesn't have to shout it across the table!"

"I wasn't shouting!"

"You are now, mate," Ron said in amusement and Harry abruptly lowered his voice once more.

"It's a long story," he said, "I'll explain it to you in detail later, but long story short is that he was framed for the murders that someone else committed, and ended up in Azkaban. He broke out, and everyone is still out looking for him."

"Oh."

Satisfied that McCoy apparently understood, Harry turned back to Hermione. "Keep reading."

"_The Ministry of Magic has received a tip off from a reliable source that Sirius Black, notorious mass murderer...blah blah blah...is currently hiding in London!"_

Harry looked furious. "Lucius Malfoy, I'll bet anything. He did recognise Sirius on the platform..."

Ron looked alarmed. "What? You didn't say-"

He was interrupted by Kirk. "If he's a wanted criminal, what was he doing on a platform?"

"He wanted to see me to the train," Harry explained as if it was obvious.

McCoy raised his eyebrows. "He's a known murder suspect and you just let him _waltz_ onto a crowded train platform? Are you out of your mind?"

"He's an Animagus," Hermione explained, her voice low. "That means that he can transform into an animal quickly. He was in dog form when he went to the train station."

"That makes sense, I guess," Kirk muttered.

"Keep reading, Hermione," Harry said quietly.

Hermione cleared her throat slightly and returned her attention back to the newspaper, scanning through the information until she found the place where she had left off. "_...Ministry warns wizarding community that Black is very dangerous...killed thirteen people...broke out of Azkaban..._The usual rubbish...Well, he just won't be able to leave the house again, that's all," she said finally, placing the paper carefully back onto the table. "Dumbledore did warn him not to."

A few beats of silence passed during which everyone thought about the implications of this latest development. Suddenly, Harry, who had been staring morosely at the paper, jabbed his finger at it.

"Hey! Look at this."

Ron, who had excitedly looked at the page which was being pointed at, seemed to deflate slightly. "I've got all the robes I want."

"No, look. This little piece here."

"What does it say?" Kirk asked as the three teenagers bent their heads over the article and began reading quietly.

"Should we tell them?" Ron asked.

"I don't know," Hermione said slowly.

"What do you mean, you don't know?" Ron demanded.

"I mean that we should keep as little people in the know as possible."

"It could be linked with Voldemort," Harry said, "and the dreams that I've been having. It could be a key to his disappearance."

"Will it help us get back to the Enterprise?" Kirk immediately asked, latching onto the last statement.

Hermione looked reluctant to say anymore, but eventually answered, "Possibly, but we aren't sure what it all means yet."

"Show them the paper then!" Ron said in exasperation. Obediently, Hermione slid the article over to them and they began to read.

They only got a few sentences in before they began to get confused. "What's the Wizengamot?" Kirk finally asked.

"The Wizard version of British Parliament," Hermione explained quickly. "Keep reading."

"Why is this important?" Kirk asked once they had finished. "People are always breaking into top security areas."

"Yes, they are," Hermione admitted, "but not Sturgis Podmore."

"He's one of the Ord-"

"Not so loud, Ron!" Hermione hissed frantically, glancing around them.

"A member of the what?" McCoy asked in slight exasperation. "And why can no one know about any of this?"

"A member of the Order of the Phoenix," Hermione explained. "And no one can know because it's a highly specialised group."

"And top secret," Harry added for good measure.

"And no one really believes that Voldemort is back," Hermione added as though she had never been interrupted, "so if we started telling everyone about Harry's dreams they would think we were crazy."

"Or lying," Ron muttered darkly.

"How do the dreams fit in?" McCoy asked.

"I dream about the Ministry of Magic," Harry said quietly. "We think that it's because of the link with Voldemort's mind."

"You have a mind link with that madman?" McCoy squawked in surprise.

"Shh!" Hermione said frantically, glaring at him.

"I can't help it," Harry retorted. "It's not something I chose. It just happened."

"How can something like that just happen?" McCoy scoffed.

"I don't know," Harry replied, beginning to sound annoyed, "but I didn't ask for this to happen to me! Do you think I enjoy seeing into his mind nearly every night?"

"I didn't say that," McCoy said calmly. "I just think there's a reason behind it."

"We've been through that," Hermione said. "I think it's more likely to be an accident."

"Well that certainly makes more sense," Kirk interjected.

"What do you reckon Sturgis was doing at the Ministry anyway?" Ron suddenly asked after a few beats of silence.

"Wait a moment..." Harry appeared deep in thought. "Sturgis was supposed to come and see us off, remember?"

"Yeah, he was supposed to be part of our guard to King's Cross, remember? And Moody was all annoyed because he didn't turn up; so he couldn't have been doing a job for the Order, could he?"

"Who's Moody?" Kirk asked. Everyone else was so excited that they simply ignored him.

"Well maybe they didn't expect him to get caught," Hermione was saying, practical as always.

"It could be a frame-up!" The other two regarded Ron in surprise. "No – listen! The Ministry suspects he's one of Dumbledore's lot so – I dunno – they _lured_ him to the Ministry, and he wasn't trying to get through a door at all! Maybe they just made something up to get him!"

"How does that link with Harry's dreams?" McCoy asked.

"The setting does," Hermione explained, "but the situations might not." She was looking at Ron in surprise. "Do you know, I wouldn't be at all surprised if that were true."

"What is it with Earth and conspiracies?" McCoy groaned. "No matter which universe we're in, we always seem to find one, and _always_ on this planet."

"Have you been to any planets underwater?" Ron asked suddenly.

"We've been to a planet covered in water, yes," Kirk replied in amusement. "We had to sign a treaty with the mermaids."

"How can mermaids get on a star ship?" Harry asked.

"They don't," McCoy snorted.

"We were just signing an agreement promising to defend them from the Klingons," Kirk explained. "They're the main warrior race; their main aim is to improve their Empire."

"Like intergalactic Romans," Ron said. Harry snorted at that.

"More violent than Romans," McCoy murmured darkly, remembering the last time they had faced a Klingon ship.

"Right," Hermione suddenly announced loudly to the world in general, making several people in the vicinity jump, "well, I think we should tackle that essay for Sprout on self fertilising shrubs first and if we're lucky we'll be able to start McGonagall's Inanimatus Conjurus Spell before lunch..."

Her voice was quickly ignored despite everyone's best attempts to listen as she droned on for a minute or two about the stack of homework that they had been given. When she had finally stopped talking and fixed them all with a glance that clearly asked them if they agreed with what she had just said, she was met with apologetic expressions on everyone's behalf, with the notable exception of McCoy.

Kirk, Harry and Ron had all bowed out of this homework schedule, using the excuse that they had Quidditch practice to go to before they did anything else. McCoy and Hermione, who had both looked mildly disgusted and annoyed about this fixation with the sport, had left for the library to do their work, while the other three made their way down to the Quidditch pitch.

After a couple of hours of practice, during which the two teenagers were amazed at how vastly and quickly Kirk had improved from his last flying attempt ("I mean," Ron had said, "you didn't even hit the ground once!"), they returned to the Great Hall for lunch, where they were immediately hounded by both McCoy and Hermione. Whilst Hermione's focus seemed to be primarily directed at Harry and Ron on the topic of their unfinished homework, Kirk was left to fend for himself as McCoy growled about safety regulations under his breath.

"Those damn sticks are worse than the transporters, Jim," the man had snapped when Kirk had said, for what seemed like the hundredth time since he had first discussed Quidditch, that he would be going to practice anyway. "They're a death trap!"

Kirk had simply rolled his eyes and tuned out the rest of the physician's protests, knowing that he would eventually back down, with the largest possible amount of grumbling of course, and allow him to continue with Quidditch. After all, he had said earlier on that he knew he could do nothing to stop Kirk from flying a broom, and that he had given up fighting him. Although, predictably, he still flung last ditch persuasion points at Kirk whenever the subject was raised.

After a tense and rushed lunch, the three players made their way down to the pitch once more for the real training session, which promised to be interesting, given the fact that it was many of the players' first.

As they walked into the changing room, Kirk could not help but feel nervous at his first ever real Quidditch game as a beater. As a reserve, he would be representing the opposing team along with the others whilst the players who had made the proper Gryffindor team practiced against him. Angelina had told him that this arrangement would be varied, so that everyone got used to working with everyone else, just in case a sub was called on at the last minute. For now though, he would have to see how well he did and hope that he did not fall off his broom again, although his last practice had been promising.

"All right, Ron?" A tall, slightly gangly boy had said when they walked in. Kirk vaguely recognised him as George Weasley, Ron's older brother and twin to Fred Weasley.

"Yeah." He didn't sound too certain, and Kirk found that he could understand why. As he donned his team colours, he could not ignore the slightly queasy feeling that was forming in the pit of his stomach.

"Ready to show us all up, Ickle Prefect?" Fred, the other twin, had emerged from the neck of his Quidditch robes, a customary grin plastered across his face.

Kirk found himself unable to concentrate on the rest of the conversation as he fought to remain calm. He could not fail now; he would embarrass both himself and the whole team. He knew for a fact that some Slytherins had filtered into the stands to watch their practice session, and he hoped that Spock was among them to give him moral support.

"Ok everyone," Angelina suddenly said, and Kirk frowned as he realised that he did not remember seeing her come in, "Let's get to it; Alicia and Fred, if you can just bring out the ball crate for us. Oh, and there are a couple of people out there watching but I want you to just ignore them, all right?"

Kirk groaned inwardly as he exited the comforting walls of the changing rooms and emerged on the Quidditch pitch. Immediately, he scanned the crowd and was relieved to see Spock sitting among the Slytherins, directing a raised eyebrow at him as he caught sight of the new Quidditch robes. Kirk grinned back and waggled his own slightly, not caring who saw. The other eyebrow escalated to join its partner.

"What's that Weasley's riding?" Malfoy was calling, and Kirk could practically feel Ron tense next to him and Harry shoot him a concerned look. Up in the stands, he saw Spock frown and say something to Malfoy, who simply whispered a few words back. Spock's annoyed look deepened, but he said nothing more as Malfoy turned back to the pitch. "Why would anyone put a flying charm on a mouldy old log like that?"

As everyone kicked into the air and Kirk stuttered to a stop, much like a stalling car, Angelina gave the Slytherins a briefly withering look but otherwise ignored them. "Ok everyone, we're going to start with some passes just to warm up," Kirk inwardly began to panic, "the whole team please," she broke off as someone yelled an insult at her, but did not otherwise appear to be ruffled, "spread out, then, and let's see what we can do."

They took it in turns to pass the Quaffle to each other, Kirk fumbling it slightly so that he looked like he was juggling in midair before finally passing it on to Ron, who dropped it. The Slytherins howled in laughter as Ron streaked towards the ground, grabbed hold of the Quaffle and hovered back into position, bright red in the face.

Angelina, however, ignored Ron's slip and shouted words of encouragement over the jeering of the Slytherins. "Pass it on, Ron."

They carried on passing the Quaffle to each other, the catches punctuated by the occasional jeer or catcall from the Slytherins. Even Kirk could not deny that, after several failed catches on Ron's part, Angelina was beginning to get irritated despite her best efforts to be supportive to the nervous keeper.

"Come on now, Ron. Pay attention."

This seemed to spur Ron on, and he caught the Quaffle triumphantly. Grinning from ear to ear at this victory against the Slytherin jeers, which had dropped slightly in volume, he threw the Quaffle at Kirk enthusiastically, who was completely unready for it.

Even reflexes born from numerous high risk missions could not save him from the hurtling ball, which slammed through his grip and punched him squarely in the face. Blinking, he vaguely heard Ron's anguished "sorry" as he shook himself both mentally and physically. Luckily, it hadn't hurt him too much and he grinned to let everyone know that he was alright.

"Get back in position," Angelina was barking at Ron, who had begun to drift over. "He's fine! But as you're passing to a teammate, do try not to knock him off his broom, won't you? We've got Bludgers for that!"

Holding a hand to his now bleeding nose, Kirk caught Spock's concerned gaze from the stands, and tried to nod in his general direction to reassure the First Officer.

"Here, take this." His reverie was interrupted by Fred, who had handed him a small toffee shaped thing from the depths of his pocket. "It'll clear it up in no time."

"Thanks," he muttered as he popped it into his mouth, sparing it a slightly dubious glance.

"All right," called Angelina, clapping to get their attention, "Fred, George, go and get your bats and a Bludger. Jim, you better go with them. Ron, get up to the goalposts. Harry, release the Snitch when I say so. We're going to aim for Ron's goal, obviously."

When they were all in the air and in their proper places, Angelina blew her whistle and everyone started their respective duties. As soon as the mock game began, Kirk's focus narrowed until he was aware only of his teammates and his own part in the game, completely oblivious to the Slytherins below.

Suddenly, the sharp yell of a whistle stopped them all in their tracks, and out of his peripheral vision Kirk could see Harry screech to a reluctant halt.

"Stop – _stop_ – STOP!" Angelina's voice was wild as she stared disbelievingly in Ron's direction. "Ron – you're not covering your middle post!"

Ron, who was hovering in front of the left hand hoop and leaving the other two vulnerable to attack, shifted obligingly, ears burning once more. "Oh...sorry..." The Slytherins were howling.

"You keep shifting while you're watching the chasers! Either stay in central position until you have to move to defend a hoop, or else circle the hoops, but don't drift vaguely off to one side, that's how you let in the last three goals!"

"Sorry..."

Angelina sighed and shifted her focus to Kirk, who was now attempting to stifle a rapid flow of blood which was streaking down his face. "And Jim, can't you do something about that nosebleed?"

"I'm trying..." He missed the anxious looks that Fred and George immediately gave one another.

"Well, let's try again," Angelina said, her tone not allowing any argument. The Slytherins were singing now, Spock a stiff exception. He was regarding Kirk in mounting concern, ignoring the gleeful antics of Malfoy beside him.

After several minutes, Kirk was unable to ignore the familiar dizziness of blood loss swooping in on him, and was having increasing difficulty staying on his broom. Rather than getting better, his nosebleed had refused to stop, until he was shaky and covered in blood.

As if through a haze, he heard the whistle screech once more and saw the players flying as quickly as they could towards him. In the stands, Spock leapt out of his seat and began running towards them.

"He needs the hospital wing!" Angelina's voice was faint through the roaring beginning in Kirk's ears.

Fred spoke up next. "We'll take him. He – er – might have swallowed a Blood Blisterpod by mistake-"

"I will assist you," Spock added, joining the group where they had all landed abruptly.

"Well, there's no point continuing now," Angelina said, but Kirk barely heard her as he was lifted off of his broom and onto the back of Fred's.

Spock took Kirk's abandoned broom and accompanied them up to the castle, staring in concern at Kirk, who was now chalk white and swaying dangerously behind Fred.

Mercifully, they arrived in front of the entrance to the school swiftly and carefully dismounted their brooms. Spock immediately moved over to support Kirk as he swayed when his feet touched the floor, his Vulcan strength and solidarity providing the necessary support. Fred and George watched anxiously.

"We'll never get to the hospital wing in time," Fred said in a hushed voice.

Spock felt determination flood him as the Captain began to grow limp against him, his nose still streaming blood. "I will see to it," he said shortly. He gathered the ailing human in his arms, cradling him close to his chest.

"Right," George said.

"We'll pack away the brooms then," Fred finished for him.

Spock barely paused to nod before jogging up the stairs and through the corridors, sending groups of students scrambling, wide eyed, to get out of the way. It was with a mounting sense of un-Vulcan relief that he finally caught sight of the doors to the hospital wing and broke through them unceremoniously, startling Madam Pomfrey who was propping up the pillows behind a student with boils on their face.

Immediately catching sight of Kirk, she grabbed her wand and directed Spock to lay him gently on a bed close to the door. "What happened?" She demanded, staring aghast at the amount of blood which had soaked into the Captain's robes.

"It would appear that he has accidentally swallowed a Blood Blisterpod."

Madam Pomfrey sighed. "An invention of the Weasley twins, no doubt." She was bustling around now, grabbing various ingredients and hastily mixing them together. "Not to worry, I've treated them during their experiments. He'll be alright once he takes this, it'll stop the bleeding." She finally finished mixing and handed the potion out to Kirk.

The Captain looked at it warily, noticing the unmistakable green colouring and occasional bubbles. If his nose had not been clogged with blood, he would have smelt a foul odour as it drifted towards him. "What is it?" He asked vaguely, his words slurring weakly.

"Never mind that," Pomfrey said shortly. "Just drink it. It'll stop the bleeding and you'll recover faster."

Kirk sighed and reached out for the small bowl, his shaking hands having to be helped by Madam Pomfrey as he conveyed the liquid to his lips, sipping it cautiously. At her encouraging and slightly urgent nod, he drank the rest of it before weakly allowing his head to fall back onto the soft pillows with a quiet "thunk".

Immediately, she returned to her mixing bowl, cleaned it with a brief flick of her wand and began mixing another potion. Finishing quickly, she held it up for both Spock and Kirk to see. "This is Blood Replenishing potion. It'll help you recover from the effects of blood loss." She handed it out to Kirk.

Kirk shook his head weakly. "It's orange," he whispered.

"Captain, you drank green potion. I fail to understand why this one should be different."

Kirk transferred his gaze to Spock, regarding the Vulcan as though it was the simplest thing in the world and Spock was just being slow. "You really never have had to suffer through Bones' treatment have you?"

"It will make you feel better," Madam Pomfrey emphasised, "unless you prefer to be bedridden."

Kirk looked reluctant but he eventually nodded, allowing the nurse to help him down the unpleasant looking liquid. After gagging briefly, he sank back onto his bed and closed his eyes in exhaustion.

Madam Pomfrey smiled in a mixture of satisfaction and relief. "There, what did I tell you? Now, you have to stay in bed until you get your strength back," she warned Kirk, who did not appear to be going anywhere in any case.

With that, she bustled away to tend to her other patients, although she paused briefly to clean off the blood from Kirk's robes and face, leaving him pale faced but clean. Spock suppressed a sigh at this latest Kirk-induced drama and took the seat next to the bed. It was his duty after all, he told himself, to make sure that his Captain was going to recover.

The doors suddenly slammed open and McCoy barged in, having somehow received word of the accident. "What in blue blazes is going on here?"

Spock stood up to greet the man, bracing himself against the torrent of emotions that the human was emitting. "Doctor," he said evenly, "I had expected your timely arrival."

"Did he fall off his broom?" McCoy demanded, stalking over to Kirk's bed. His eyes were angry, but he was unable to hide the concerned frown which tugged at his lips. "What the hell happened, Spock? Are you going to tell me or do I have to guess?"

Refraining from reminding the Doctor that he had in fact already guessed, Spock told him. He watched in fascination as McCoy began to turn puce.

"He did _what?_" The Doctor snarled.

"Consumed a Blood Blisterpod."

"I heard you, you green blooded hobgoblin; I just didn't believe you. _Why_ would he do that?"

"It was through no fault of his own, Doctor. Perhaps if you will allow me to finish my explanation?"

"Fine," McCoy snapped, glaring at him as though it were his fault that Kirk had got himself into such a state again.

"After sustaining injury from a Quaffle," Spock said calmly, ignoring McCoy's confused expression at the Quidditch terminology, "he was offered an object by Mr Weasley. However, there had been an error."

"What kind of error?" McCoy asked impatiently. "Did he give Jim a Blood Blisterpod by mistake?"

"He did," Spock confirmed.

"God damn it," McCoy swore. "Even when he's not in trouble he is." He glared down at his sleeping friend. "How much blood did he lose?"

"I cannot estimate an exact quantity," Spock replied, "however; Madame Pomfrey believes that he shall recover shortly, due to the effects of blood replenishing potion."

McCoy sighed and sank into the seat that Spock had vacated. "I knew something like this would happen," he moaned. "Jim's a magnet for trouble." He glared up at Spock accusingly. "I thought you were there to make sure he didn't get hurt!"

"I was," Spock agreed. "However, there is very little that I can do to combat magic induced epistaxis."

McCoy snorted. "I should have known that even if you were there he would find some other way to kill himself."

Spock allowed his eyebrow to rise. "That is hardly a logical assumption, Doctor. The Captain does not, contrary to popular belief, seek to cause his own demise."

"Well he might," McCoy snapped back, "if he keeps pulling stupid stunts like this!"

"As I stated earlier, this was not the Captain's doing. If you wish to berate him for something that could not be avoided, then you will achieve nothing."

"I know," McCoy said wearily, running his hands through his hair as he continued to stare at Kirk's sleeping form. "I just wish that these things didn't happen every time we got off the Enterprise."

"Doctor, many of these occurrences happen aboard the Enterprise. It is hardly logical-"

"Spare me your damn logic, Spock! If you want to keep spouting it then go somewhere else, but don't say it to me!"

There was a brief silence. "I apologise, Doctor."

"It's alright," McCoy said grumpily, waving his hand as though swatting away a fly. "I'm just rattled." He sighed and looked up at the Vulcan. "Are you going to stay here, then?"

"Of course." Spock favoured the Doctor with the Vulcan equivalent of an 'are you mad' look. McCoy smiled slightly in response as Spock drew up another chair.

Without warning, Kirk began to shift and moan on his bed. "Is that supposed to happen?"

"I am not certain, Doctor."

"Well don't just sit there damn it," McCoy snarled as he began trying to stop Kirk from thrashing around too much, "call a doctor!" Spock opened his mouth to say something, but McCoy managed to spare the time to glare at him, despite being occupied with a frantically struggling Captain. "Not _me_, you idiot, another doctor!"

Trying not to panic, Spock disappeared briefly from Kirk's side to seek out Madame Pomfrey, who was busily humming her way around her desk at the other end of the room. Walking swiftly over to her, Spock drew to a halt in her direct line of vision. "The Captain is having an unprecedented reaction to the potion," he said without any preamble. "Doctor McCoy is having difficulty in restraining him."

Uttering a worried curse, something of the Merlin variety Spock suspected as he strode after her, she arrived back at Kirk's bedside to find Doctor McCoy now almost lying across the majority of the Captain who was doing a passing impression of an out of control octopus.

"Stand aside," she said sharply.

"I can't," McCoy panted, "he'll fall off the bed."

"He'll be alright," she assured him. "I've seen this reaction before."

Warily, McCoy gradually let go of Kirk's thrashing body, ducking down onto the floor when an out of control foot made as though to smack him in the jaw. Madam Pomfrey immediately began crushing ingredients and mixing it all together, the whole process barely taking a minute. She had obviously done this before.

Grabbing Kirk's head in a surprisingly strong grip, she forced it to remain still even as the rest of him kept slithering around in the sheets. Slowly prising his mouth open, she tipped the contents of the mixture down Kirk's throat, the muscles swallowing convulsively. Slowly, Kirk's seizure began to calm and he resumed his previous position on the bed; sprawled out and gasping for air.

Pomfrey nodded in slightly flustered relief. "There. It's a common enough reaction, he'll get over it in no time."

McCoy gaped at her. "Are you all NUTS?"

"Doctor, the Nurse just prevented-"

"Shut up, Spock," McCoy snarled, not even looking at the Vulcan. "If you knew this reaction happened to a lot of patients, why did you give him the damn potion in the first place?"

"The Blood Replenishing potion?" She was clearly confused by his tirade.

"YES damn it!"

"Because it was the only way to rebuild his blood levels. It can't be helped that a lot of people react badly to it; it's the only treatment for blood loss. If I had simply left it, his condition could easily have deteriorated."

"Can't you find another one?"

"Doctor," Spock interrupted quietly, turning to face the seething surgeon, "surely you appreciate the difficulty in such an endeavour?"

McCoy spluttered for a moment. "That's not the point!"

"That is irrational, Doctor, as you just indicated that it was."

"I..." McCoy seemed at a loss for words.

"The Captain is known to suffer from reactions of a similar category."

McCoy scowled at him. "You can just never let me get the last word, can you?"

"I cannot," Spock replied, "when you are being illogical. Unfortunately for you, that would appear to constitute the majority of your arguments."

"Thanks," McCoy groaned. He regarded Kirk wearily, who was sleeping peacefully by now. "Damn it Jim, one of these days you'll give me a heart attack..."

Madame Pomfrey favoured him with an understanding glance. "He'll recover by morning. If you want, you can remain here with him. I'm sure the Headmaster won't mind."

"That is much appreciated," Spock replied, inclining his head politely even as McCoy wordlessly flopped into his chair.

As Madame Pomfrey walked back over to her desk, Spock remained standing, deep in thought as he watched the Captain sleeping so innocently after causing so much trouble, until McCoy finally looked up in slight annoyance. "Are you going to sit down or not, Spock? You can't stand there all night!"

"An astute observation Doctor," Spock said quietly as he made his way back over to his own chair and sat down. McCoy did not answer him, apparently too emotionally drained by the past few minutes to actually engage in an argument.

Together, they sat back to begin their long vigil over their Captain, patiently allowing a few of the Quidditch team into the wing to see Kirk and assure themselves that he was alright. After they had gone and night had begun to fall, it was apparent that Kirk would not be waking up until the morning. Resigning themselves to a night spent in the hospital wing despite Madam Pomfrey's best assurances that their friend would be fine, they settled into their chairs and tried to get some sleep.

oOo

Sighing in slight annoyance at having been dragged away from marking the latest essays from his class, Severus Snape stalked up the stairs and knocked on the door of Dumbledore's office, pushing it open when he heard a muffled "come in" from inside the room.

He swept in and stood before the old man who sat at the desk. "You wished to see me, Headmaster?"

Dumbledore immediately abandoned the piece of parchment that he had been writing on, favouring Snape with a slightly grim expression. "Ah, yes Severus. Please, take a seat."

Snape sighed and sat down, knowing from the expression on the face of the man before him that the situation was a serious one. Silently, he waited for the explanation which he knew was to come, as the old wizard paced a few times behind his desk.

"Severus, you know as well as I do that we are not going to find the counter curse," he finally said, abruptly. "At least, not any time soon."

Snape nodded. "I had expected that much, Headmaster."

Dumbledore sighed again and turned to face him. "Then I do not have to tell you what this means?"

Snape said nothing, simply gazed into the fire. He had expected this also, but he had half hoped that it wouldn't be necessary, that Dumbledore would be able to find the counter curse before they had to resort to this.

"Severus," Dumbledore said quietly, sitting down once more and surveying the younger man over his half moon spectacles. "I would not ask this of you unless it was necessary. The three officers must be returned to their universe, and the prophecy fulfilled."

Snape shook his head slowly; exasperation filtering into his normally carefully controlled voice. "I will never understand the faith that you put into prophecies."

"Nor will others understand the faith that I put into you, Severus, but we both know that it is justified."

Snape scowled at this, unable to deny the Headmaster's point. When he failed to answer, the Headmaster continued talking.

"You will do what you must, to gather the needed information?"

"I will," Snape said quietly and truthfully, meeting the Headmaster's gaze without any trouble.

Dumbledore nodded and smiled. "Good. Now, try your best not to get caught."

He resisted the urge to scowl once more at Dumbledore's inane statement. "When do you wish for me to begin?"

"As soon as you think it's necessary, Severus. I must defer to your judgement on the matter."

"Very well. If that is all, Headmaster?"

Dumbledore smiled at him and the serious mood lifted slightly. "I won't keep you from your work any longer, Severus." He continued to smile as Snape swept out the room, waiting until the man had left before allowing his expression to become slightly worried once more.


	15. Tensions

**15. Tensions.**

_Grinning in elation, Scott walked across the Academy grounds to where he knew Tohn would be. The Gaaran always came out into the grounds to study no matter what the month, claiming that as a member of a highly telepathic race it was easier to be outside, away from the hubbub of unprotected minds. In fact, if it never rained, Scott was certain that his friend would spend most of his time outside. Sometimes, Scott joined him but very rarely, since he preferred using a desk for his work, usually so he could tinker with some small machine which he had found. Tohn had been trying to get him away from distractions like that for months, but to no avail. _

_"Tohn!" He called, reaching his friend's favourite spot and grinning madly as he saw his friend already stood up, turned in his vague direction. "Are ye talkin' to the trees now?" He quipped. _

_"Hey, Scott." The voice was slightly nervous and quiet, although it easily carried through the distance between them. When Scott neared the Gaaran, he saw another person stood just behind a tree, previously out of his line of sight and giving the impression that Tohn had been talking to himself. He had also been out of sight of the Academy. _

_Coming to a halt, he recognised the figure and his eyes narrowed slightly. "What's Dawson doing here?"_

_Dawson, a shy, nervous cadet who rarely spoke in class but who constantly seemed to be in trouble, cleared his throat and shuffled on the spot, compounding Scott's confusion. The cadet's gaze had dropped to the floor and his ears were steadily turning a brighter shade of red every passing second. _

_Tohn frowned at Dawson in slight annoyance; an odd expression for the Gaaran, who was usually smiley and easy going. "Zach was just leaving...weren't you, Zach?"_

_Dawson nodded vigorously, almost like a puppet, never directly meeting Scott's eyes but staring at a point just beyond his shoulder. "Yeah...uh...see you tomorrow, Tohn?"_

_His jaw tightening at something in that statement, Tohn nodded curtly, but draped his arm casually around the other man's neck, gently propelling him back towards the looming Academy building. "We'll talk about this later." The words were spoken softly, obviously not intended for Scott to hear, but he heard anyway. Tohn gave the cadet's arm a brief pat and then a small shove, turning back to Scott. _

_"Let me guess," he grinned, "the parts came?"_

_For the past few weeks, the two of them had been busying themselves with a new project; building a hover craft together from scratch. Although Scott had frequently repaired his own crafts during his pre-Academy years, he had never actually had the time to build one. Tohn, for his part, had never really come across the different makes of hover craft on Earth and constantly questioned Scott about it, sometimes even offering suggestions for improvement based upon the designs used on his own planet. The result was something that looked like a cross between a scooter and a car; certainly something that Scott would never have previously dreamt about building, yet which held a certain appeal to him nevertheless. _

_Scott, who was staring after the retreating Dawson with a frown on his face, could only nod at the reference to this project, his thoughts clearly elsewhere. "What was all that about?"_

_Tohn's smile did not waver. "All what?"_

_"Dawson never comes down here," Scott clarified, his gaze shifting back to Tohn suspiciously. _

_The Daaran shrugged this comment off easily. "He just wanted to ask me something."_

_"All the way down here?"_

_Tohn laughed; the sound tinkling sweetly and practically dripping with innocence. Scott's suspicions immediately deepened. His friend never laughed like that, the only exception being when he was hiding something mischievous from their professors. "Believe it or not, Scotty, other people do come down here to talk about private matters."_

_Scott raised his eyebrows at the barely noticeable emphasis on 'private matters'. "What's going on?"_

_"Oh come now," Tohn chuckled, his arms spreading out in a not entirely convincing peaceful gesture, "I have no idea what you're talking about!"_

_"Hey," Scott said. "I know ye. Ye only act like this when ye're hiding something."_

_"What do you say about finally finishing off that craft, hmm?" He began to walk away but Scott grabbed his arm before he could stop himself; not caring for once about his friend's natural telepathy. _

_"Ye're evading the issue, Tohn."_

_"Why can't you just let it go," Tohn asked, "and accept the fact that I talk to other people besides you?"_

_Scott recoiled slightly at this uncharacteristic abruptness. "Because ye've never hidden anything from me before."_

_"If I had," Tohn chuckled carelessly, "I doubt you'd know about it now." The laugh didn't quite reach his eyes, which were steely. He carefully shrugged Scott's hand off of his arm. "Now," he exclaimed, still smiling widely, "how about that hovercraft?"_

Yawning slightly, Chief Engineer Scott awoke, groaning as he remembered which dream he had just had. For the past few weeks, they had become even more frequent until it reached the point where he could barely get any sleep any more. Even a dream like that one, with a simple conversation, was tinged with pain. The future of what happened between them hovered constantly about the edges, but his dream self never saw it. Never recognised the warning signs until it was too late.

Even now, he continued to berate himself for his naivety. He had placed his trust in Tohn, despite many warnings from those around him, the majority of whom had heard stories about the Gaarans which were not generally repeated through mainstream channels of communication. Of course, no one believed them; such stories always arose when a new planet joined the Federation; a new race brought new possibilities. And the unknown scared some people into violence.

He remembered vaguely from his history lessons the distrust with which the Vulcan race had first been greeted. Their unemotional facade had been mistaken for total cold blooded behaviour and not mere logic; no one had recognised the miniscule tell tale signs of emotion beneath the blank masks. They had been persecuted by some at first, and there had been little that the authorities could do to stop it. Likewise, any humans among a Vulcan community were distrusted. The ideologies were simply too different; too difficult for either culture to comprehend, and it had almost to violence between some groups.

Yet they had been accepted, Scott remembered, after the two cultures had learned to live together and understand each other. Perhaps that was why he had put so much faith in Tohn; he had believed that he was misunderstood, that if he just accepted him he would open up and reveal more about his kind.

Of course, he regretted that now.

Sighing once more, he slowly made his way over to his personal log and began yet another recording. He had decided, after the first few dreams, to make a note of them when he woke. He knew that he was simply witnessing his own memories, but he had once heard McCoy mention that dreams brought to light things that were not apparent in the waking world. Subconscious messages or desires, for example. Perhaps they would be important in the future.

He allowed his mouth to relate the incident into the recorder, his mind silently whirring over the events of the past few weeks. The dreams had been linear in sequence, almost as though he were reliving them. He had expected, when he had heard the voice, for the dreams to occur sporadically and randomly, picking out the relevant information of their relationship as Scott's mind remembered it. But so far, it had been remarkably ordered. Perhaps even frighteningly so.

Running his hand through his hair, he tried in vain not to yawn, knowing that he had the beginnings of dark circles beneath his eyes. This could not go on; he needed to be able to keep his duties up as he was now both Acting Captain and Chief Engineer, as he had not trusted anyone else to look after his engines. In hindsight that might have been a bad idea, but he was reluctant to give up the post. To do so would be to admit defeat; to admit that the three officers might not be coming back.

Their only hope was the interrogation of the four prisoners, and that had yielded little success. The self proclaimed Dark Lord had apparently forbidden his subordinates to reveal a single word, although he had heard numerous references to Muggles and Latin sounding words. If he didn't know any better, he would have assumed that they were spells, especially after that first incident on the Bridge.

Yet he did know better. Magic did not exist. It was just impossible.

A niggling voice at the back of his mind, one sounding strangely like Mister Spock, kept reminding him that in a universe with infinite possibilities, nothing was completely impossible. Especially where alternate time lines were concerned, but how many times could that happen, really?

He tried not to dwell on that one.

Star Fleet command, of course, was having enough difficulty in understanding the situation, as his confrontation at the original scene had proved, and he really did not look forward to explaining that no matter how hard he and his research teams tried, they just couldn't get any answers out of the prisoners. Nor could they find any trace of anything that might lead them to the officers' current whereabouts. It was as though they had simply disappeared into thin air.

The crew was beginning to get on edge; certain that a hostile force had stolen the three officers and were currently interrogating them to try to gain information on the Federation, or perhaps use them as future prisoners of war; bargaining tools. Morale had plummeted, and it hadn't been helped any by Scott wandering around the ship looking both exhausted and slightly terrified.

Though no one knew the true reason why.

The only other person having an equally extreme reaction to the whole fiasco was Chekov, who was determined that some bad omen had managed to creep aboard the star ship at the last planet side stop which, coincidentally, had happened to be in orbit around a planet full of superstitious natives. Chekov was convinced, despite all attempts to persuade him otherwise, that the ship was haunted or infested with dark magic, and that at any moment someone else might disappear. He had even taken to eating garlic, although no one was quite sure why.

"It's to keep avay the wampires," Chekov had explained, as though this was obvious.

"I thought you said they disappeared because of magic," Sulu had said in amusement.

Chekov had nodded his head vigorously, his eyes wide. "The two are closely linked," he had explained. "Wampires are in league vith magicians."

Uhura, who had seemed to have at least some idea at what the navigator was talking about, had simply shaken her head. "It's a long story," she explained to the Bridge crew at large, "and I'm not even sure how it works."

"Just go a bit lighter on the garlic, Pav," Sulu had said, swatting at the air in front of him. "I can smell it from here."

"Good," Chekov had replied, unfazed by the expressions of all those around him. "Then I vill be able to see if a wampire is coming. He will die before he reaches me."

Everyone had shaken their heads at this and the matter had been dropped, no one knowing quite what to say in reply to the Ensign's increasingly hysterical measures against vampires and magic. In fact, Scott was certain that it was only due to ship regulation that he did not hang a horse shoe above the door to his cabin.

Finishing his impromptu report on the latest dream, he stood up and began to get ready for his shift, feeling the weariness begin to tug at his very bones. Perhaps, he considered briefly, he should get some sleeping pills.

Though knowing him and the luck aboard this ship, they would make things worse.

oOo

Having finally gotten used to the routine of Hogwarts, it was with ease that they navigated their way down to the Great Hall that morning for breakfast, saying their customary farewells as Spock headed over to the Slytherin side. Kirk and McCoy made their way to their usual seats at the Gryffindor table, where they found Harry, Ron and Hermione deep in discussion.

"...we ended up with Umbridge," Hermione was saying. "Fudge passed this educational decree and forced her on us! And now he's given her the power to inspect other teachers!"

"How can Fudge pass a decree?" Kirk asked distractedly. "Is there magically enchanted candy in this universe or something?"

"No," Hermione said shortly even as the two boys snickered. "Fudge is the name of the Minister of Magic."

"Oh..." Clearly embarrassed, Kirk proceeded to busy himself with eating once more.

"I can't believe this," Hermione said, her rant now back on full as she shoved the paper back onto the table. "It's _outrageous_!"

"Fudge is insane," McCoy concluded.

"Is that your professional opinion, Bones?" Kirk was grinning at him in amusement now, his face practically split into two halves by the wide smile.

"Anyone who gives her a position of authority has to be at least slightly deranged," McCoy continued, "but to actually make her an inspector and _in charge_ of dismissing teachers, they'd have to be certifiably insane."

"We've been saying that since he came to power," Ron agreed heartily, ladling yet more food onto his own plate and tucking in. "'E nevah doss annythn snsibble," he added with his mouthful.

"Politicians never do," McCoy muttered grimly.

"Under the circumstances" Hermione said, "I think they do pretty well."

"Oh come on!" Ron exclaimed, spraying food everywhere. "Don't tell me you agree with this lunatic?" He waved in the general direction of the newspaper which was lying forgotten on the table.

"Of course not," Hermione snapped. "I just don't think that all politicians are incompetent."

"Mental," Ron muttered, "absolutely mental."

Hermione wasn't listening however; opting for angrily poking her food instead. "This is disgusting."

"What?" Kirk asked in shock. "This is the best food I've had for ages...alright, I am normally stuck with replicated food...but still, this stuff is-"

"I didn't mean the food," Hermione said curtly. "I meant Fudge's policy."

"I know it is," Harry said sympathetically.

Ron, who had suddenly snorted and sprayed McCoy with half munched food, received stares from the others at the table.

"Damn it," McCoy muttered angrily. "What am I, a human dustbin?"

"What?" Harry and Hermione demanded of Ron together, completely ignoring McCoy.

Ron's grin widened and his voice sounded positively elated when he finally spoke. "Oh, I can't wait to see McGonagall inspected. Umbridge won't know what hit her."

"Well," Hermione announced, standing up, "come on. We'd better get going, if she's inspecting Binns' class we don't want to be late..."

As they arrived in the classroom, they noticed that it was conspicuously, as Ron put it 'toad free'.

"Maybe she croaked," Kirk said hopefully.

Ron stared at him. "Come on mate, I can do better than that."

"Ron's right," Hermione said from the other side of the desk. "That was a terrible pun."

"How else do you think he got his reputation?" McCoy asked wickedly.

"Through dedication, pride and honour," Kirk said. "Actually."

"Just keep telling yourself that, Jim."

"Maybe she just didn't want to fall asleep," Harry whispered as Binns began his lecture, never once looking at the class huddled before him.

"Maybe that's what he died of," Ron continued, his voice also in a whisper. "Boredom."

"Ron!"

"What now?"

"That's a very sensitive subject," Hermione scolded. "You should know that by now after talking to so many of the ghosts."

"I don't see why," Ron said, shrugging. "They've had years to get over it..."

With one final glare at her friend, Hermione continued making her notes as Binns droned on and on, the never ending monotony of his voice slowly but surely sending his class to sleep. He never noticed this of course, but simply kept on droning, his lecture fading into the background like a particularly irritating wasp as some students began talking over him.

No one was sad to see the lesson finish.

They met up with Spock once more as they all trudged down to the dungeons for their 'torture' as Ron called it. Together, they trooped into the classroom and sat in obedient silence as Snape handed back the essays, not even deigning to comment on the ones which he considered to be particularly awful.

When he reached Spock and Hermione, after slamming a 'D' down onto Harry's side of the desk, he stopped and actually allowed a satisfied expression to creep onto his face.

"It is gratifying," he drawled lazily as he handed the work back to Spock and Hermione, "to see that my endless efforts at teaching such a bunch of dunderheads is not wasted on some. Clearly," he said, sweeping on, "more effort needs to be put into the work which I assign you if you want to retain any hope of passing your exams."

He came to a smooth halt at the front of the class. "I have awarded you the grades you would have received if you presented this work in your OWL." He smirked at Harry, who stiffened and clutched his paper furiously. "This should give you a realistic idea of what to expect in the examination." He allowed disgust to creep back into his voice once more. "As I stated earlier, the general standard of this homework was abysmal. Most of you," he glanced in Harry's direction once more, "would have failed had this been your examination. I expect to see a great deal of more effort for this week's essay on the various varieties of venom antidotes, or I shall have to start handing out detention to those dunces who get a 'D'."

In front of the Gryffindors, Malfoy sniggered contemptuously, making Snape smirk. "Some people got a 'D'? Ha!"

"My thoughts exactly, Mister Malfoy," Snape said languidly as the boy continued to snigger. He flicked his wand at the board. "Here are your instructions. I suggest that you all make a break with tradition and read them."

As the class began mixing and crushing ingredients, Snape walked around slowly, gazing carefully into each cauldron, glaring at Neville when sparks were sent shooting into his long, greasy hair. "Fifteen points from Gryffindor," he snapped at Neville, putting out the sparks. His hair remained relatively untouched.

"Did you see that?" Ron squeaked gleefully, barely paying attention at what he was doing but instead grinning at Snape's turned back. "He almost set Snape on fire!"

"Lucky for him he didn't," Harry muttered, apparently absorbed in the instructions on the board.

"I'd have paid good money to see that."

"Ron," Hermione hissed. "Your potion is solidifying."

"...I thought it was supposed to do that." Kirk, who had been listening to the conversation and ignoring his own cauldron had suddenly realised that not paying attention came at a price.

Ron glanced over at the Captain's potion, which looked much more solid than his. "We're both in trouble."

"You can say that again," Kirk said woefully.

"Just try to pay attention from now on," Hermione advised. "Both of you."

"Miss Granger," Snape said as he passed her, "your job is not to stop these two from turning their potions into cement. Back to your own work."

"Yes sir..."

Snape came to a stop in front of Spock, who had reached the finishing stages of his potion. "Mister Spock, kindly stay behind after class."

"He hasn't done anything," Harry said angrily.

"I did not say that he had, Potter," Snape said coolly, regarding the student with slight disdain. "Surely I can ask a pupil to remain behind without your personal objections? I am, after all, the Potions Master in this room." With one small smirk, he turned back to Spock.

"Of course, sir." The Vulcan inclined his head slightly, as he always did when accepting orders. With a small nod of acknowledgement, Snape walked away.

"Oh, Harry..." Hermione's despairing voice reached them a few moments ago. "Your potion's gone purple..."

Harry angrily extinguished the heat beneath his cauldron, glaring at the dark figure sitting in the teacher's chair.

The rest of the lesson drifted by unbearably slowly, most of the class having ruined their potions by the end of it. Only Spock and Hermione had got it completely perfect, although Malfoy and a few other Slytherins had come close. It was with a sense of relief that the bell rang a few minutes after McCoy's potion began turning green, so that he had an active excuse to yank the fire out from under it and preventing it from getting ruined any further.

Faces were glum as they made their way out of the classroom, leaving Spock behind to talk to Professor Snape. Hermione, never one to remain completely silent for long, launched into enthusiastic conversation as they walked towards the Great Hall for lunch.

"Obviously," she said, having not even stopped her monologue when she placed food onto her plate, "I'd have been _thrilled_ if I'd got an 'O'..."

"Hermione," Ron butted in, causing her to cut off in slight surprise, "if you want to know what grades we got, ask."

"I don't – I mean – well, if you want to tell me..." she trailed off, perhaps realising that her attempt to lie was unconvincing.

"I got a 'P'," Ron said as he helped himself to food."Happy?"

"I thought it only went down to an 'F'..." Kirk muttered to McCoy, who looked equally stumped.

"Well," Fred butted in as he sat down, "that's nothing to be ashamed of. Nothing wrong with a good healthy 'P'."

"What does it stand for?" Kirk finally asked.

"Poor," Lee Jordan explained from where he had just sat down. "Still, better than 'D', isn't it? Dreadful?"

Harry was suddenly prone to a coughing fit but everyone else tactfully pretended not to notice.

"So top grade's 'O' for 'Outstanding," Hermione recited for the benefit of Kirk and McCoy, "and then there's 'A'..."

"No," George corrected, "'E' for 'Exceeds Expectations'. And I've always thought Fred and I should've got "E" in everything because we exceeded expectations just by turning up for the exams." He dug his twin in the ribs and everyone burst out laughing.

"So," Hermione continued, directing her recital at the two officers once more, "after 'E' it's 'A' for 'Acceptable' and that's the last pass grade, isn't it?"

"Yep," Fred said.

"Whoops..." Kirk and McCoy muttered together.

"Then you get 'P' for 'Poor' and 'D' for 'Dreadful'."

"I got that," McCoy said, not missing the briefly grateful look which Harry flashed him. Still everyone pretended not to notice so as to spare their friend's feelings.

"And then 'T'," George interjected.

"What does T stand for?" Kirk's voice betrayed just a tiny hint of fear.

"Troll."

"Great," Kirk said, sinking back into his chair. "I'm a Troll."

"You actually got a T?" Harry asked, astounded.

Kirk nodded and Ron patted him on the back in consolation. "It's not that bad, mate. Just ask your Slytherin friend for help."

"So what's this Slytherin been getting?" Lee Jordan asked.

"O for everything," McCoy said with no small measure of jealousy.

There was a collective whistle from around the table. "Someone beat Hermione," Ron said, awed.

"Why wasn't he in Ravenclaw?" Hermione demanded.

Kirk shrugged. "We thought he would be, when we found out the different houses, but the hat chose Slytherin."

"You should watch out for that one," the Weasley twins said seriously.

"Everyone keeps telling us that," Kirk replied, "but Spock isn't dangerous at all."

"They brain wash them, you know," George said.

"Turn them into zombies," Fred added.

"Don't be ridiculous," Hermione scoffed. "We all know that zombies live further away from us than the vampires."

"...Zombies actually exist?" McCoy's eyes had bugged out of his head and his mouth was hanging open marginally. "But that's medically impossible!"

"So are Blood Replenishing potions," Kirk said cheerfully, "but you don't hear me complaining about it."

"You've always been an exception to the rules, Jim."

"The zombies don't hurt us," Hermione said quickly. "We're perfectly safe."

"Oh _wonderful_," McCoy said caustically. "I'll just invite one around for tea and crumpets in this castle with Noddy."

The sound of laughter continued throughout their meal as the Gryffindors proceeded to give yet more examples of mythical creatures and then make fun of McCoy's reactions. In the end, even the physician had to admit that it was funny, although to begin with he staged several verbal protests, and laughed along with them, particularly at some of the impressions of the Wesley twins. Over at the staff table, Dumbledore was treating them all to one of his indulgent smiles and Snape was giving them a very weird look, particularly when Ron started waving his arms in the air and baring his teeth in an impression of a vampire bat, causing Harry to nearly choke on his drink.

It was with great reluctance that they finally left the hall and began making their way to their respective classes, Spock joining the still chuckling group on the way to Divinations. He raised a silent eyebrow as Kirk stood at the top of the staircase that they had just climbed, clutching his sides and face gradually turning red from lack of air. He uttered a silent gasp and almost fell back down headfirst, but Spock caught him and guided him over to a wall where the Captain leaned, still giggling helplessly.

"Fascinating. I do not believe that I have previously seen the Captain exhibit such behaviour."

"School brings out the worst in him," McCoy said by way of explanation. "You should have noticed when you were teaching at the Academy."

"I did, however I do not recall his reaction being to such an enthusiastic extent."

"He's always full of surprises." He turned to regard the three teenagers. "You go ahead...we might be here a while."

"It's alright," Harry said, "we'll wait."

But Hermione was viciously shaking her head. "You better go, you'll be late." With that, she hurried off to her own lesson, tossing a quick 'see you later' over her shoulder.

"Well," Ron said dryly. "We have our orders. We'll see you up there?"

"Eventually," McCoy quipped, but when they were out of sight he grabbed Kirk by the collar of his robe and shoved him up against the wall until they were almost nose to nose. "Get a grip, man!"

"I..." Kirk dissolved into another fit of giggles.

"Captain, you are behaving like a highly immature adolescent," Spock said, calmly standing there as though this sort of thing happened every day and not giving the passing crowds the tiniest bit of thought.

"Damn it Jim, snap out of it!"

"Alright," Kirk wheezed, letting go of his sides. "Remind me not to eat any more meals with so much sugar in them..."

"I warned you, but do you ever listen to your Doctor?" McCoy snarled as they began walking again. "No."

Kirk, who didn't relish the idea of yet another tirade, quickly changed the subject. "So Spock, what did Snape want to talk to you about?"

"He requires my services regarding the teaching of his classes next week," Spock replied.

"He's just going to let you teach them?" Kirk asked disbelievingly, the laughing fit now well and truly forgotten in light of this new development.

"I am the logical choice. There are no other substitutes available and I have been receiving top grades for my work."

"Vulcans really aren't modest, are they?"

"Don't tell me I have to suffer through one of your damn lessons _again_," McCoy whined.

"I shall endeavour to make it as painless as possible," Spock said dryly.

"You'll try," Kirk sniped, "but you'll fail."

The conversation halted as they entered the Divination classroom to find Umbridge waiting for them. Luckily, she did not notice that they had arrived late and they just managed to sneak into their usual places before she began speaking.

"Goof afternoon, Professor Trelawney," Umbridge said, smiling widely. "You received my note, I trust? Giving the time and date of your inspection?"

Professor Trelawney simply nodded and, grinning in malicious satisfaction, Umbridge waddled over to a chair and dragged it to the front of the class, promptly plopping herself into it with a comically heavy thud. Ignoring the amusement which rippled through the class at this, she took out her clipboard and stared at Trelawney expectantly.

Professor Trelawney nervously shifted for a few moments before allowing her customary wise expression to take precedence. "We shall be continuing our study of prophetic dreams today." Her voice was not quite as mystical as usual. "Divide into pairs, please, and interpret the other's latest night-time visions with the aid of the _Oracle_."

McCoy sighed and opened his book. "Who wants to go first?"

"I believe that the Captain takes priority," Spock said very quickly.

Kirk glared at him, clearly not wanting to be put under the spotlight for once. "Ok..." he thought for a moment. "I can't remember."

"Well then make one up," McCoy snapped.

"Alright...don't laugh. I was sword fighting with the Three Musketeers."

McCoy snorted. "Really?"

"That was the best I could come up with at such short notice."

"Fine, we'll use that one." He skimmed through the information in the book. "We add your age to the date you had the dream, the number of letters in the subject..." he trailed off as he began making a calculation in his head.

"Now..." Umbridge said in a carrying voice, drawing the attention of everyone in the room. "You've been in this position how long, exactly?"

"Nearly sixteen years."

Umbridge's quill made a scratching sound as she scribbled this down. "Quite a period. So it was Professor Dumbledore who appointed you?"

"That's right."

Umbridge raised her eyebrows as if that explained everything and underlined something. "And are you a great – great – great – granddaughter of the celebrated Seer Cassandra Trelawney?"

"Yes."

Umbridge looked unimpressed as she made yet another note. "But I think – correct me if I am mistaken – that you are the first in your family since Cassandra to be possessed of Second Sight?"

Trelawney shifted slightly but her head remained high. "These things often skip – er – three generations."

"Of course," Umbridge simpered though she was grinning widely. "Well, if you could just predict something for me, then?"

"I don't understand you."

"Highly illogical," Spock muttered. "One cannot expect a prediction under such circumstances."

"Don't tell me you believe in this, after all the comments you've made since you've started taking this subject," Kirk murmured back in amusement.

"I do not. However, it would be illogical in any case to expect a meaningful prediction under duress, when they are usually infrequent in nature."

"I'd like you to make a prediction for me," Umbridge was continuing, talking as though to someone very deaf.

"The Inner Eye does not See upon command!" Trelawney replied in insulted tones.

Umbridge made another note on her clipboard. "I see."

"I – but – but..._wait_!" Trelawney was clearly desperate now; raising a hand to her forehead as though something had just come to her. "I...I think I _do_ see something...something that concerns _you_...why, I sense something...something _dark_...some grave peril..." Umbridge simply stood there, smiling insultingly. "I am afraid...I am afraid that you are in grave danger!" The ending was dramatic, but entirely unconvincing.

"Right," Umbridge said mockingly, making another note. "Well, if that's really the best you can do..."

McCoy scowled at her. "If she keeps going like that she really _will_ be in grave danger."

"Grave being the operative word..." Kirk added, equally incensed.

For the remaining ten minutes of the lesson, Trelawney attempted to make up for her previous failure by grabbing Harry's dream diary and interpreting it at the top of her voice.

"I have to admit," Kirk said during a particularly gruesome monologue on the part of Trelawney, "she has imagination."

For the duration of this, Umbridge stood, smiling, only a few feet away from Professor Trelawney and making notes on her clipboard. All they could hear aside from Trelawney's desperate ramblings was the scratching of Umbridge's pink quill on a sickly shade of pink parchment.

oOo

_Tohn sighed at the Cadet's stupidity. "Of course no one will catch you, Zach."_

_Dawson shuffled nervously, his entire being emitting psychic waves of fear. "I'm not so sure..."_

_"YOU were the one who wanted this," Tohn reminded him, trying not to roll his eyes at the cadet's indecision. _

_"Maybe I don't anymore."_

_"Don't be ridiculous!" He allowed himself to utter one of his silver laughs, the sound disappearing into the grounds beyond them. Stupid git and his mood changes. _

_"I mean it Tohn. I don't want to get caught."_

_"You __**won't **__get caught, Zach." How could someone be so __**wet**__? "I made sure of that, or do you simply think I'm careless?"_

_"Of course not," the youth babbled pathetically. _

_"They don't know a __**thing**__ Zach," he said sweetly, ignoring the revolting beads of sweat forming on the human's upper lip. _

_"What if they find out?" He was waffling mindlessly now, his mind creating cascading waves of panic. "I'll be disqualified-"_

_Tohn briefly pinched the bridge of his nose in preparation before diving recklessly into the terrified mind before him, giving it a large mental shake. When he had its attention he withdrew, loathe to stay in that small box the human called a mind. "Shut up and listen to me!"_

_Fearful eyes met his. "How did you do that?"_

_He forced his own eyes not to roll skywards in exasperation. This cadet's stupidity was endless. "How do you think? I'm a telepath, remember?"_

_Dawson lifted a shaky finger and pointed it at him. "I'm warning you," his voice was shakier than his finger, "keep that voodoo of yours away from me or-"_

_"Or what?" He interrupted harshly. "You'll tell on me?" He gave another silver laugh, delighting in the sound as it wafted into his ears. "And how would you explain that to whichever poor soul you go whining to?"_

_"They all know you're a telepath, they'll-"_

_"They'll what? Attack me with a pitchfork? It'll be your word against mine," Tohn sneered. "And who are they more likely to believe? The affable, hardworking new Gaaran or a snivelling creep who never talks?"_

_Dawson attempted a half hearted glare._

_Tohn smirked at him. "Besides, I can always alter your memory so you don't remember."_

_"There are rules against that." Dawson didn't sound too certain of that, and his eyes were beginning to dart nervously around for an escape route. _

_"There are no rules for me," Tohn sniffed disdainfully at the cowering man before him, sneering at the way that he was trying desperately to hide his fear. "Those only apply to Vulcans. Do I look Vulcan to you?"_

_"No."_

_"Exactly, and good thing too. So I can do whatever I damn well please, and I will if you don't stop moaning."_

_"But-"_

_"What did I just say?" He snapped, finally losing all patience with the man before him. "Stop moaning, Zach, everything is taken care of."_

_"No one found out?"_

_"Will you stop asking me that? No, no one found out." He suddenly smirked, a thought popping into his mind. "Actually, one of them did, but not a professor."_

_"What?" The silly young man's eyes were wide and staring now, rivulets of sweat trickling over his pudgy face._

_"You remember Sarah?"_

_"Sarah Rodgers? Wasn't she the one who..." Dawson trailed off as realisation seemed to hit him. _

_"Had a breakdown, yes. She caught me snooping in the files so I wiped her memory. I had a bit of fun at the same time, of course," he said casually. "Completely insane."_

_Sarah Rodgers had been officially carted off to a penal colony a few days ago after being declared criminally insane. Apparently, the professors believed that stress had brought her down. Tohn spared a brief snort at this ridiculous conclusion. _

_"It was quite a challenge," he continued, voice passionate with the memory. "It seems that she had some telepath blood in her. Not nearly enough, mind you, but enormously entertaining all the same. I really hadn't expected her to fight back."_

_"Wasn't that a bit...over the top?" Dawson asked quietly. _

_"No," Tohn replied dismissively. "Why would it be?"_

_"She only found you snooping around for that information."_

_"Exactly, and I wasn't caught because I destroyed her mind. What's your problem?"_

_"Couldn't you have just wiped her memory?"_

_Tohn laughed derisively. "My dear Zach," he said, shaking his head in amusement, "you really have a lot to learn. It was more fun my way."_

_"You're sick."_

_"Do you want my help or not?" He spat, his eyes flashing. "Oh, I forgot," he said mockingly, "you're not sure."_

_Dawson practically squirmed on the spot. "It just seemed a bit excessive for answers," he muttered finally. _

_"Do you __**want**__ to pass?"_

_"Yes...but I didn't think anyone would get hurt, Tohn. It's just exam answers."_

_Tohn waved his hand. "A mild inconvenience; nothing of importance."_

_"It just seems too much trouble."_

_"Well," he said coldly, "since I've obviously put so much effort into it for you, why don't you follow through with it, hmm? We both know you won't pass with that walnut brain of yours."_

_Dawson's eyes sparked in idiotic annoyance. _

_Tohn shrugged and put on his best nostalgic air. "Too bad, too bad. I've taken a shine to you, Zach. It would be a shame to tear your mind apart." Grinning inwardly, he allowed their minds to touch slightly. _

_**"WAIT!**__"_

_Tohn stopped. "Yes?"_

_"I've changed my mind."_

_Tohn grinned at him. "I thought you might have." He separated their minds completely, enjoying the expression of absolute relief on the idiot's face. "Everyone always does."_

_"What do you mean, 'everyone'?"_

_"My dear Zach...you really didn't think you were the only one to come to me for help, did you? I admit, under the circumstances, my methods are a bit extreme but they get the job done. I'm quite popular among cadets who are failures." He shrugged. "I'll give you the answers by tomorrow."_

_Dawson nodded. "That should give me enough time to memorise it."_

_"For a small fee of course."_

_"How much?" Clearly, Dawson had been expecting this. _

_"300 credits."_

_"WHAT?"_

_"How else can I pay for engine parts for Scotty? He knows that I'm from a royal family on my home planet...I have to keep up that image," he said smoothly. "Unfortunately, we ran out of money a while ago, which makes my task somewhat difficult without your co-operation."_

_"I can't pay you that much!"_

_He allowed their minds to brush once more, savouring the rush of power he received from the obvious terror of his client. "Such a pity to lose a mind with such potential..."_

_The moron paled and gulped. "I'll find a way!"_

_"Good." Their minds were separate once more. "Have it ready by the end of the month. I'll hear no excuses."_

_He forced a smile to his face as he saw Scott making his way towards them again. "Hey!" He yelled. Under his breath he muttered "Go, you idiot!" Dawson obediently scurried away. _

_"What was he doing here again?" Scotty asked as soon as he drew level with Tohn. _

_"Poor Zach has needed my advice quite a lot recently," Tohn replied with forced melancholy and pity for the blundering fool who had just left. "That divorce is tearing him apart."_

_"Divorce?"_

_Tohn nodded gravely. "His parents are separating; it was quite sudden, I'm afraid."_

_Scott looked at him suspiciously and Tohn resisted the impulse to hold his breath. "Why are you suddenly telling me all of this? You've been keeping it a secret for two weeks."_

_Tohn shrugged and flashed a dazzling smile. "Because you won't remember anything I say."_

_"What?" _

_Ignoring his friend's shocked expression; he delved into the familiar mind, navigating his way easily through Scott's memories. Tohn had done this many times before when he had suspected that the human knew too much, and before long the practiced process was complete. _

_Scott's expression was only dazed for an instant before it turned into a wide smile. "Oh, I almost forgot! More parts came!"_

_"Excellent," Tohn said enthusiastically. That had been too easy; no resistance at all. "Let's get cracking!"_

Gasping, Scott sat up in bed. That dream had not been his; which could mean only one thing.


	16. Shopping with Snape

**16. Shopping with Snape.**

The weekend arrived with a bustle of activity as the students prepared for the trip into Hogsmeade. Yet it was just before they were due to leave that the three Star Fleet officers were asked to go to the Headmaster's office, though the reason was not given. They ascended the spiralling stair case nervously, not sure what quite to expect when the doors opened to them.

A large room assaulted their senses, the books all around hiding the fact that there had to be walls. Portraits jostled and shoved once they realised that the entrants to the room were not the usual students, but instead three adults. Whispered conversations drifted down to them, the occupants of the portraits doing nothing to disguise the fact that they were curious.

"...them! The aliens!"

"They're not aliens, they're travellers!" One of the portraits argued.

"They come from the stars. The Muggles call these people aliens!" The first voice countered.

"Then where are the gaudy green antlers and purple faces?" The second voice sneered.

At this, a third voice chimed in, this belonging to the man behind the desk who had looked up when the door had opened. "Only the Muggles depict aliens as having green antlers and purple faces, Tobias," Dumbledore said patiently. "We have had no evidence to suggest that this is true in reality." He turned to face the three gaping men in the doorway. "Welcome," he said grandly and with a twinkle in his eye, "to my office. Please, take a seat and help yourselves to a Bertie Bott's Every Flavour bean."

They sat down and the two humans happily took a bean each, neither noticing Spock's slight glance with Dumbledore.

Kirk chewed in consideration. "Strawberry," he muttered as he swallowed. "It's a lot juicier than I expected."

"What did you expect?" If they didn't know better, they would classify that tone as impish.

"Something vaguely resembling strawberry. It seems that I've spent too much time among replicators. They're not very accurate..."

McCoy, meanwhile, had been turning steadily greener. "I need a bucket."

"A bucket?" Kirk asked.

"A bucket damn it," McCoy repeated, his mouth clenched around the sweet.

"Swallow it," Dumbledore recommended. "It will get rid of the taste. And, coincidentally, it would create much less mess on my newly cleaned carpet..."

McCoy blinked angrily at him but the wizard only continued to smile humorously. Finally, he rolled his eyes, clenched his jaw in preparation and then swallowed, his body shivering as he did so. "Yuck," he said finally.

"I've known some people to hate sweets, Bones, but I never thought you'd be one of them."

"I got vomit!" McCoy spat angrily, still glaring at Dumbledore. "Who in their right mind would make a vomit flavoured sweet?"

"I suspect that no one would," Dumbledore said affably. "Though I have no idea what the mental condition of Bertie was when he created these..."

"You _knew_ that this would happen!"

"I did have a sneaking suspicion, yes," Dumbledore conceded, his eyes still twinkling.

McCoy sputtered for a moment or two, and Kirk burst out laughing. Spock simply looked mildly amused, although it was hard to tell.

"I didn't know you did practical jokes, Professor," Kirk finally said in between snickers.

Dumbledore's eyes continued to glitter mischievously. "Oh come now, Captain, it is hardly my place to prank students. Now, all trivialities aside, there is something of importance which I mean to discuss with you. I am sure that I don't need to remind you of the upcoming Hogsmeade event. However," he added seriously, "simply because the school year has begun does not mean that there is no more danger."

"Are you suggesting that we remain in the castle?" Spock asked.

Dumbledore shook his head. "I don't wish to deny you one of the few opportunities to see the wizarding world. Yet there will remain certain people who wish to capture you in order to return Voldemort. While I know that I cannot keep you locked away in the castle, I do not want you to suffer an attack when you cannot defend yourselves."

"What do you propose?" Spock asked curiously.

"That you once again allow Professor Snape to accompany you. He is a proficient dueller and I have every confidence in his abilities to keep you away from harm."

"Will he be with us constantly?" Kirk asked warily.

"Of course, Captain," Dumbledore replied. "He will need to be able to notice every threat after all, including spoken ones by people you may meet in Hogsmeade."

"Does he agree to this?" Kirk asked grimly.

"I did manage to convince him, after a little persuasion," Dumbledore said lightly, his face crinkling into a not-quite smile. "I also took the liberty of warning him – once again – not to insult you too much, although I can of course make no promises."

"We understand," Kirk replied, also smiling in spite of himself at the image of Dumbledore holding this conversation with Snape.

Dumbledore nodded and sat back in his chair. "Then it is settled." His eyes gained a mischievous quality once more. "I don't suppose I could interest any of you in another sweet?"

"No," McCoy said shortly. "I'm still recovering from the last one."

"It was worth a try," Kirk quipped to the wizard as he stood.

Dumbledore smiled. "Severus will meet you in the Entrance Hall in ten minutes," he simply said. "Now, although I have warned him not to argue with you, I must ask that you do not provoke him. He has a wand, and you don't." His eyes twinkled once more as he allowed that statement to sink in.

"We'll...keep that in mind, Professor," Kirk finally said.

"Then I hope you enjoy yourselves, and do try not to attract too much attention," he said pointedly, glancing between McCoy and Spock.

"I'll make sure they won't," Kirk promised, grinning.

Giving one final nod to the Headmaster, the three officers climbed once more down the spiral stair case and almost ran straight into three teenage blurs.

"Blimey," one of them, who turned out to be Ron, coughed as he stumbled to a halt, "we've been searching the whole castle for you! You're late."

"The Headmaster wanted to speak with us," Kirk explained.

"You are allowed into Hogsmeade, aren't you?" Ron asked. "We have to show you Zonko's..."

"We're allowed," Kirk began grimly.

"But Professor Snape needs to come with us," McCoy added, equally grim.

"Snape?" Harry demanded in sympathetic astonishment.

"Trust him to not let you escape for a few hours of freedom."

"It's probably just for security, Ron," Hermione pointed out.

"Yeah, but _Snape_?"

"Professor Dumbledore assured us that he is quite proficient at duelling, should we be recognised or targeted on the streets."

"He's a Death Eater!"

"Ron!" Hermione admonished, glancing warily around them before beckoning everyone to be quieter.

"Ron's right," Harry interjected. "Snape's a Death Eater, so we can't trust him not to turn them in."

"Of course we can," Hermione snapped, although she did not look completely sure of herself. "If Dumbledore trusts him then we ought to as well."

Ron and Harry both snorted, but did not say any more as they had by now reached the Entrance Hall. Snape was standing there dressed, as always, in black from head to foot and looking, as always, slightly angry at something or other.

"You're late," he snapped when they finally stopped in front of him. "The rest of the students have already left."

"Sorry sir," the majority of the group immediately grumbled.

"Professor Dumbledore has filled you in?"

"Affirmative," Spock answered.

Snape nodded. "Good. Now, although I am to be your – for lack of a better word – bodyguard, I expect you to remain vigilant at all times. I can hardly defend you against danger if you just run blindly into it."

"Yes sir," they chorused.

Snape turned his head back towards the three teenagers. "Potter, Weasley, Granger, don't you have somewhere to be?"

"We were just waiting for them," Harry explained.

"I have no recollection of giving you permission to do so, Potter," Snape drawled. "As it is, three is enough to care for and you," his eyes darted to Harry's scar and settled on it for a moment, "would only make the group much more conspicuous."

"We just wanted to show-"

"I didn't ask your opinion on the matter, Mr Potter," Snape said smoothly. "This is not a subject open to interpretation. Believe it or not, I am capable of acting as a tour guide," his curled lip indicated his less than pleased thoughts on the matter, "and I do not need your help, nor do I want it. Hogsmeade is difficult enough to travel through without your constant entourage of adoring fans."

Harry looked angry enough to curse the Potions Master, but Hermione was tugging insistently on his arm, her expression anxious as she looked from Snape to Harry and then back again. With one final glare at Snape, Harry obediently stepped out of the castle, leaving the group of adults behind them.

"Git," a muffled voice spat as they walked away.

"Twenty points from Gryffindor, Weasley," Snape called. "If I catch you saying that for a third time you will receive a rather unpleasant detention!" He turned stiffly back to the three officers. "Ready? Then let's go." With that, he swept out of the door.

McCoy rolled his eyes. "This is going to be a barrel of laughs," he muttered as he followed the taciturn Potions Master.

An eyebrow ascended the increasingly well worn route to Spock's hairline. "Doctor, a laugh is not a physical object. To expect it to form a barrel is highly illogical."

"Never mind," McCoy groaned as they caught up with Snape.

Kirk chuckled and slapped Spock on the shoulder. "Don't worry. I promise you I'll make a dictionary of human idioms."

"Such a dictionary would no doubt be too large and cumbersome to carry."

Kirk grinned. "I'll make it pocket sized. If you're good," he teased, "I might even write 'Don't Panic' on the front."

"For what purpose would I endeavour to panic? I am a Vulcan; such emotions are alien to me."

Kirk's grin only grew wider even as McCoy groaned. "You've never read "The Hitchhiker's Guide To The Galaxy" have you?"

Spock gave him a look. "Regrettably, I have not."

"I'll buy you a copy."

"Jim," McCoy hissed, "you're talking about the most illogical book known to man! Are you sure he can handle it?"

"I'm sure he'd find it...'fascinating'. Professor, is there a bookshop which sells Muggle books around here?"

Snape nodded. "The Abterminal. I shall take you there first, since we appear to have no other destination."

Keeping an eye out for danger but still chatting amongst themselves, they gradually made their way to The Abterminal, a seemingly small looking shop which expanded when they stepped through, rows and rows of books clamouring around them on over burdened shelves. Every single shelf seemed to lead back to a point in the middle, where a short woman was sitting at a desk. The effect was that the shop was laid out much like the spokes of a wheel.

"Now I know where it gets its name..." Kirk muttered.

"This effect is reminiscent of Doctor Who."

McCoy did a double take. "_You_ watched Doctor Who?"

Spock nodded. "Despite the numerous scientific inaccuracies, my mother did insist upon it. It was a fascinating insight to Earth culture."

"Yet you've never heard of "The Hitchhiker's Guide To The Galaxy"," Kirk said, shaking his head in mock sadness.

"I regret if my omission has caused you some distress, Captain."

Snape, not having any idea of what they were talking about and having long ago grown impatient of watching them stand in the doorway bantering, gave a brief sigh of annoyance. "The Muggle section is over there," he said, pointing at a section with a sign marked "M" floating steadily above it. "Perhaps you would care to look?" He added sarcastically.

"Alright," Kirk announced, rubbing his hands and approaching the formidably high bookshelves as though he was approaching a climbing wall, "off we go!"

They began sifting through rows upon rows of books, calling out titles of books which they had already read, or books that simply sounded ridiculous.

"Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency..." McCoy muttered as he walked past the book. "Never heard of _that_ one."

"The Dark Dark Hole of Eternal Doom," Kirk chuckled as he too carried on searching. "A friend of mine read that."

"What happened?" McCoy asked.

"He became afraid of heights..."

"Perhaps," Snape suddenly drawled, making the two humans jump slightly, "you should simply allow me to look?"

"Professor, I don't think you'll find it," McCoy said wearily as he glanced at another copy.

"There are ways of retrieving things by magic, Mister McCoy," Snape reminded them. "It is much more efficient..." with a simple flick of his wand, a book whizzed out of the shelf, narrowly missing McCoy's nose as he bent down to look at another book.

"I was about to find that," McCoy groaned. Snape simply smirked at him and handed the book to Kirk.

"The Trilogy of Four," Kirk read. "This is it!"

Snape produced a bag of coins and pulled out a Galleon. "Here," he said simply, thrusting the coin at Kirk. When Kirk simply stared at it, he sighed in annoyance. "It is simply a piece of currency; it is not going to bite you."

"Professor, you don't have to-"

"How else do you propose to pay for it?" Snape smirked when he received no answer. "Professor Dumbledore has once again provided me with a sufficient amount of money to buy anything you need. Of course," he added pointedly, "it will only work if you take the money..."

Kirk took it. "Thank you."

"I will pass your thanks on to Professor Dumbledore."

Kirk paid for the book and gave it to a slightly confused and yet even more curious Spock, who simply stared at it.

"The customary response is 'thank you', you pointy eared hobgoblin," McCoy grumbled.

"Captain, it was not necessary for you to purchase this for me."

"Now that's gratitude," McCoy snorted under his breath.

"I want you to read it," Kirk said impishly, "and it's easier to find here than in our own universe. It would probably be antique at home."

"A logical process of reasoning, Captain."

"I'm guessing you approve then."

"Indeed," Spock replied, his eyes smiling.

"I am not a human purse," Snape protested when Kirk attempted to give the change back to him. "You may keep the change. You might need to spend it and I can hardly hold onto it for you."

"...right," was all Kirk could think of to say as Snape started out of the shop.

"You handled that well," McCoy snorted, a grin plastered over his face as they followed the Potions Master.

They walked into him, not having been looking where they were going.

"What's going on?" McCoy asked once he'd regained his balance and Snape had stopped glaring at him.

"Mister Potter, Mister Weasley and Miss Granger have just entered the Hogs Head," Spock reported.

"Is that important?"

Snape turned to face McCoy disdainfully. "It is a pub," he said simply, "as I told you on our first visit here."

"And students are not allowed to drink there," Kirk added unnecessarily.

"An ingenious deduction," Snape drawled sarcastically.

"Are we going to kick them out of there?" McCoy asked, clearly not wanting to get the three teenagers into trouble.

"Obviously," Snape said, already moving off into the pub, the others following him. Once inside, he swept quickly over to the bar and sat down with his back to the students, making sure that they were close by in order to hear them, but not close enough for them to be suspected of being heard.

"I thought you were going to throw them out," Kirk commented as they sat down by him.

"They are obviously in here for a reason," Snape explained patiently. "I will find out what it is."

"Why not just ask them?" McCoy asked in exasperation.

"I doubt they would tell me," Snape said simply.

The bartender, a tall, overweight man in a greasy looking vest which might once have been white, lumbered over to them. "What do you want?" He demanded.

"Nothing," Snape answered shortly.

"Then get out of my bar. This spot is reserved for people who order."

"There is no one here," Spock pointed out reasonably.

"Who asked you, pixie?" The bartender snarled.

"I am not a pixie."

"Oh yeah?" The man asked, peering at Spock's ears, "Then what are they?"

"Ears."

"Are you trying to be funny?"

"It would never occur to me."

"We will have a scotch," Snape finally said.

"I thought you weren't having anything."

Snape's jaw hardened. "Clearly I have changed my mind. Do you want customers or not?"

"Alright, alright," the man said, holding up his hands but throwing a filthy look at all of them. "One scotch coming up..." He shuffled over to the other side of the bar.

"Do any of you drink scotch?" Snape asked.

Kirk opened his mouth but McCoy kicked him in the foot and shook his head for the both of them. "Jim, you are _not_ getting drunk."

"It's just one scotch, Bones."

"_No_." McCoy enunciated. "We don't need you getting into a brawl."

Kirk sighed. "It looks like you'll have to drink it, Spock."

Spock's eyebrows shot up to his hairline. "Vulcans do not ingest alcohol."

"Professor Snape doesn't drink," Kirk said quietly as the bartender brought Snape a filthy glass, slammed it on the table and walked away, "and McCoy won't let me or himself drink anything here. But everyone knows that Vulcans are not affected by alcohol."

Spock looked dubiously at the glass, noticing the streaks of dirt across it and the liquid which had sloshed over the side to land on the table. "Nevertheless, drinking such a beverage in this establishment would be severely detrimental to my health."

"In that case," Kirk said, leaning over to grab the drink, "let me deal with this."

"Jim, I told you-"

"Relax Bones. I have my methods." With that, he tipped his head back and pretended to drink, his eyes looking over the rim of the glass at the bartender. When the man seemed satisfied that he had customers and turned away, he turned to the side and poured half of it onto the floor.

"Captain," Spock said, his eyebrows climbing, "that is hardly sanitary."

"I doubt anyone here would notice," Kirk replied. "The floor looks dirty enough as it is." He placed the glass back onto the table. "Sorry about that Professor. I can always find a way to pay you back."

Snape silenced them with a hand gesture, and they realised with a start that several more people had already filed into the pub and were currently sitting around the three Gryffindors. Fortunately, none of them had recognised the adults at the bar.

"...might be good," Hermione was saying to the group at large, "if people who wanted to study Defence Against the Dark Arts – and I mean, really study it, you know, not the rubbish that Umbridge is doing with us because nobody could call that Defence Against the Dark Arts...Well, I thought it would be good if we, well, took matters into our own hands."

There was a brief pause as everyone seemed to digest this. Snape's eyes had widened in understanding.

"And by that," Hermione continued, "I mean learning how to defend ourselves properly, not just in theory but doing the real spells-"

"You want to pass your Defence Against the Dark Arts OWL too, though, I bet?" Someone asked.

"Of course I do," came the immediate reply. "But more than that, I want to be properly trained in defence because...because..." she seemed to hesitate for a moment, "because Lord Voldemort is back."

Snape's hand clenched on the table top at the mention of his name. "They are incredibly foolish to discuss the return of the Dark Lord here," he snarled. "Anybody could be listening."

"...the plan, anyway," Hermione continued. "If you want to join us, we need to decide how we're going to-"

"Where's the proof You-Know-Who's back?" Someone demanded.

"Well, Dumbledore believes it-"

"You mean, Dumbledore believes _him_," the same boy said, and they could almost imagine all of the eyes now swivelling to Harry.

"Who are _you_?" Ron's voice demanded angrily.

"Zacharias Smith, and I think we've got the right to know exactly what makes him say You-Know-Who's back."

"Look," said Hermione, beginning to sound flustered, "that's not really what this meeting was supposed to be about-"

"It's ok, Hermione." There was a brief pause. "What makes me say You-Know-Who's back? I saw him. But Dumbledore told the whole school what happened last year, and if you didn't believe him, you won't believe me, and I'm not going to waste an afternoon trying to convince anyone."

"All Dumbledore told us last year," Zacharias Smith continued relentlessly, "was that Cedric Diggory got killed by You-Know-Who and that you brought Cedric's body back to Hogwarts. He didn't give us details, he didn't tell us exactly how Diggory got murdered, I think we'd all like to know-"

"If you've come to hear exactly what it looks like when Voldemort murders someone I can't help you. I don't want to talk about Cedric Diggory, all right? So if that's what you're here for, you might as well clear out."

No one moved.

"So," Hermione continued, "So...like I was saying...if you want to learn some defence, then we need to work out how we're going to do it, how often we're going to meet and where we're going to-"

"Is it true," someone interrupted, "that you can produce a Patronus?"

"Yeah," Harry muttered in reply. Snape actually rolled his eyes.

"A corporeal Patronus?"

"Er – you don't know Madame Bones, do you?"

"How extremely relevant," Snape snapped to himself quietly. "That boy never fails to stray from the topic of conversation."

"Blimey, Harry!" The conversation continued behind them, "I never knew that!"

Snape's lip curled into an expression of deepest disgust at all the attention that Harry was now getting, but he said nothing.

"...kill a Basilisk with that sword in Dumbledore's office? That's what one of the portraits on the wall told me when I was in there last year..."

"Er – yeah, I did, yeah."

"And in our first year," Neville jumped in, "he saved that Philological Stone-"

"Philosopher's," Hermione hissed audibly.

"Yes, that – from You-Know-Who."

Snape glanced around the room, noticing the suspicious looking characters lurking there. "People are listening," he murmured to the officers. "If they don't finish their meeting soon, we will need to provide a distraction for them to get out the pub."

"Understood," they all muttered, immediately slipping back into Star Fleet mode.

"...shut your mouth?" Ron suddenly demanded of someone.

"Well, we've all turned up to learn from him and now he's telling us he can't really do any of it."

"That's not what he said," Fred snarled.

"Would you like us to clean out your ears for you?" George demanded.

"Or any part of your body really, we're not fussy where we stick this," Fred added.

McCoy snorted. "Sounds like you, Jim," he muttered.

"I never really gave any warning before I began a brawl," Kirk whispered back.

"Right, well, then, the next question is how often..."

Something stirred in the far corner of the bar, and Snape immediately stood up, eyes narrowed as the figure slipped out of a back entrance. "Come on," he said in the direction of the three officers.

They followed him over to the group of students, who looked up in alarm as they realised their mistake too late.

"Professor," Hermione began, but Snape did not let her finish.

"Spare me your inane lies, Granger," he snapped, "I already know what you're doing. I suggest that you simply get everyone to write their names down so that you can contact them later and then leave this pub. You have been over heard."

Inconspicuously, everyone began writing their names down while the four adults formed a barrier around them, preventing anyone else in the pub from seeing what was going on. When everyone had finished, Hermione tucked the list back into her robe pocket.

Snape nodded and then raised his voice slightly, "Twenty points from Gryffindor, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw, for being in this pub without permission." He smirked slightly in satisfaction as this created the right amount of indignation and protest to hide his real motives for talking to the students. "I expect to see you all back up at the castle in twenty minutes," he said, "I suggest you start walking now."

Together, the students all filed out of the pub and began the long trek up the road to the school gates. Once they were in the privacy of the school grounds, Snape turned to the three officers.

"They will need somewhere to practice," he said, "I will organise a way for them to 'discover' the Room of Requirement. You must pretend not to suspect them of searching for your room. They are not, after all, supposed to know of its existence, and no doubt think that you are staying in a converted unused class room."

"You're going to allow this?" McCoy asked in surprise.

"Of course," Snape replied. "I disagree with the students on many counts, but I think it is a universally known fact that Professor Umbridge is incompetent. The students need to continue to practice their defence skills. They cannot hope to survive outside of school otherwise."

"Wouldn't it be better if a professor taught them?" McCoy asked.

"Who would you recommend?" Snape asked, raising an eyebrow. "If a professor were to suddenly disappear for an hour or so along with several students, Professor Umbridge would no doubt suspect the existence of the group. Much as I loathe to admit it," he said, his lip curling, "allowing Potter to teach the students is a much more practical and inconspicuous approach."

"It's also much more Slytherin," Kirk muttered in amusement.

Snape didn't even dignify that with an answer as they walked back into the castle and the doors closed behind them.


	17. Snapshots

**17. Snapshots. **

It was with a familiarly deep sense of foreboding the next day that Harry, Ron and Hermione assembled outside of the Potions room, the heavy door once again revealing no hint of what was in store for them. A small line of enthusiastic Slytherins stood opposite them, eager enough to be in the Potion Master's class that they arrived several minutes early, whilst by contrast the Gryffindors preferred to leave the daunting class to the last possible moment. They were the only three Gryffindors as yet assembled in the dark and unfortunately familiar corridor, and were already regretting it as the usual taunting began once more.

Finally, the heavy door swung open, revealing the scowling visage of the Potions Master behind it, beckoning them inside with a peculiar mix of reluctance and resignation. "Come."

Harry and Ron exchanged looks as the Master stalked back into what had been dubbed his 'lair'. His gait, whilst as stiff and unrelenting as normal, seemed slightly less severe.

"Is he in a good mood?" Harry asked with disbelief.

The red head continued to stare at the ominous figure who was now conversing with Spock, who was standing at the front of the classroom. The Slytherins filed into the room, occasionally blocking his view and he craned his neck slightly before dropping back to Harry's level. "I dunno," he finally muttered. "With him I can never tell."

"Are you two coming?" Hermione hissed.

Looking around they noticed that they were the last three left in the corridor, with Hermione awkwardly in between rooms, staring at them intently and gesturing slightly with her head at the room beyond, eyes slightly frantic. "Yeah..." Ron muttered unenthusiastically as they trundled to their usual places.

As soon as they had taken their customary seats, Snape treated them all to a slightly mellower smirk, causing nervous glances to ripple through the class. "Much as I would relish the opportunity to correct your usual abysmal attempts at potion making," he said softly, "I will not be teaching you today."

Malfoy seemed slightly disappointed at this promise of less insults directed at the Gryffindors. "Who is, professor?"

Snape did not seem to mind the question, which caused more whispers to arise. "Mister Spock," he replied, gesturing at the Vulcan with a slight inclination of the head. Spock, at the front of the class, remained impassive.

There was collective jaw dropping all around.

"What?" Harry blurted out before he could stop himself.

Rather than seeming annoyed at the interruption, Snape merely looked amused for the time being. "Since you seem hard of hearing Potter, I will repeat; Mister Spock will be teaching your class."

"Why?" Harry asked bluntly.

"The exact details are hardly any concern of yours, Potter." Snape's voice had become quiet steel once more. "However, suffice it to say that he is an unofficial..." his lip curled over the word, as though he had difficulty in admitting it to himself, "temp."

"Sir," someone objected, shoving their hand into the air, "he knows less than us."

"Obviously," Snape said smoothly, "you have neglected to pay attention in my class. His marks surpass even the likes of Miss Granger."

Hermione stiffened slightly over Snape's apparent triumph at finally having a Slytherin as the head of his class.

"I will of course," Snape added, "remain here to supervise for this lesson. Fortunately, I will not have to suffer your presence tomorrow but," he gave them a stern glance, "I will be displeased to say the least if I return to a burned down classroom." With that, he gave Spock a subtle nod and retreated to a corner at the back of the room so that he could watch the Vulcan from a student's perspective.

Spock's expression did not change as he addressed the class. "Although I am not your official Potions Master," he said neutrally, "I expect the same level of precision. While I may not be as knowledgeable as Professor Snape on the topic of potions, I am equally versed in retaining discipline and expect the conduct usually shown in Professor Snape's class. Deliberate carelessness or failure to adhere to instructions will not be tolerated." He allowed his gaze to sweep the classroom. "Am I understood?"

"Yes sir," the class chorused as one, caught between the piercing stares of both Spock and Snape. Someone swallowed nervously.

Without acknowledging this, Spock turned around and wrote instructions on the board, his writing clear and precise. "Your instructions are before you," he announced, turning back around. "You may commence."

Everyone scrambled to obey, just as terrified now of Spock as they usually were of Snape.

"I forgot that he was like this at the Academy," Kirk chuckled as they shuffled back to their benches, ingredients in hand.

"All I know is that we have to behave," McCoy smirked, "or Professor Spock will nerve pinch us."

Their laughter was interrupted by Harry. "What's a nerve pinch?"

"You haven't lived until you've seen one," Kirk said cheerfully. "They're great – when you're not the one being pinched, of course."

"It's a Vulcan technique," McCoy explained, rolling his eyes at Kirk. "They position their hand on their opponent's shoulder like this," he placed a hand on Kirk's shoulder, "and squeeze."

"What does it do?" Ron asked.

"Knocks people out," Kirk replied.

"That's impossible," Hermione scoffed even as she stirred her potion around in her cauldron, eyes fixed on the board, "how can pinching someone knock them out?"

"You could ask a similar question about those sticks of yours," Kirk pointed out.

"They're wands, not sticks," Hermione said haughtily, looking offended.

"Basically," McCoy interrupted the brewing argument as he absent mindedly lit his Bunsen burner, "Vulcans can project energy through their fingertips. When applied to the correct nerve points – in the case of a human; the shoulder – it renders the target unconscious."

"I know a certain professor I'd love to try that on," Harry muttered as he glowered at his cauldron.

Their resulting laughter was interrupted this time by Spock, who had arrived at their table. "May I suggest," the Vulcan said quietly, making McCoy jump, "that you return your attention to your cauldrons?"

"Jesus, Spock!" McCoy wheezed as he clutched his torso in mock heart attack. "How many times do I have to tell you not to do that to me?"

"It would be wise to refrain from such inappropriate behaviour, Doctor, whilst in this classroom."

"Oh come on," McCoy snorted. "I was only explaining something to them."

"Was this explanation relevant to potion making?"

"Well," McCoy said, his humour evaporating as soon as he saw that Spock was serious, "...not directly."

"Then you will cease such discussions unless you wish to suffer a punishment."

"I'm your friend, you green blooded hobgoblin!"

"Fascinating though such a development may be, I fail to see the relevance of that statement."

"My point," McCoy snapped even as Kirk struggled to hide a grin over his cauldron, "is that you can't just punish me like that when you're not even a legal teacher here!"

"My legal status as a professor is irrelevant. Professor Snape has the authority to name me as substitute and as such you must conform to the necessary behaviour patterns in my class, friendship status notwithstanding."

"God," McCoy spat angrily. "You're worse than you were at the Academy!"

Spock sighed slightly as his attention was grabbed by Kirk. "Captain, I suggest that you remove your head from the cauldron. An ensuing accident could prove significantly detrimental to your health."

"Don't you think it's a bit inappropriate to address Jim as 'Captain' while ordering him around?"

"I do not have time," Spock said wearily, "to debate the hypocrisy of your statement, Doctor. However, I can assure you that if you continue in your disruptive behaviour, you will not find my attention lacking. Defy me again, and you will no doubt find yourself in detention, engaged in an activity which you find uninteresting." An eyebrow quirked upwards. "I have numerous scientific theories available for discussion."

McCoy groaned as Spock walked away. "Snape's rubbing off on him..."

"Maybe it's the other way around," Kirk quipped, staring after his friend in amusement.

"You can't be serious, Jim!" McCoy squawked under his breath. "Look at him!" He jabbed a knife in Spock's general direction, making Ron have to jerk his head backwards to avoid getting his nose sliced off as he bent over a cauldron. "He's terrorizing the children!"

"So are you."

"I'm not doing anything!"

"You're waving that knife around," Kirk told him, grabbing hold of the physician's wrist. "You'll cut someone's head off in a minute."

"He never used to be that bad at the Academy," McCoy muttered as he obediently put his knife down.

"I think he did."

"That's because you antagonised him whenever you could," McCoy shot back. "The rest of the time, he was more like he is on the Enterprise."

Kirk shrugged. "Either way, you can't deny that he's good at his job."

"If I didn't know better, I'd say he enjoyed stepping into Snape's shoes," McCoy said.

"I wonder why Spock has to act as a substitute anyway."

"Who knows, Jim. Maybe Snape just got fed up of teaching this class and decided to torture us with Spock instead."

"That doesn't make any sense," Kirk mused, chopping up some leaves and throwing them like confetti into the cauldron. "He's a teacher."

"So?"

"Teachers don't just get up and leave unless it's urgent."

McCoy snorted. "Like what? The giant squid breaking loose?"

"You know what I mean, Bones. It's fishy."

"That's your worst pun yet Jim."

Kirk grinned. "I try my best."

"Snape's never had a day off for as long as we've been here," Harry put in.

"I'm sure he has," Hermione added absently, "just not for our class."

"He does sneak off sometimes though, Hermione," Ron added. "Remember in our first year when we thought - Harry?"

Ron had broken off mid speech to stare at his best friend, who had suddenly let out a hiss of pain and grabbed his forehead with his right hand.

"What is it?" McCoy asked, his Doctor persona immediately taking control.

"It's his scar," Hermione explained urgently. "It happens whenever You-Know-Who is feeling strong emotions."

"Or when he's close," Ron added, looking pale.

"He can't be here," Kirk said reasonably. "He's on the Enterprise."

"Harry?" Hermione asked, placing a hand on her friend's shoulder.

"What's he thinking, mate?"

"He's...he's angry," Harry managed to bite out between clenched teeth. Without warning, he let out a pain filled cry and collapsed to the floor as his knees buckled, where he seemed to be struggling not to writhe in agony.

"What is going on here?" Snape snapped, breaking through the small crowd which had begun to form and stopping short at the sight of Harry lying on the ground. "Potter?"

Spock appeared beside him. "It appears as though he is currently locked in telepathic contact."

"You know that?" Ron asked.

"I have witnessed numerous cases," Spock said shortly.

McCoy, who had bent down next to Harry and was holding two fingers to the teenager's neck, glanced up. "His heart rate is dangerously elevated. How often has this happened before?"

"On occasion," Snape replied instantly, his customary smirk nowhere to be seen.

"If this keeps up the stress could kill him," McCoy said urgently, his hands now moving to try to restrain the thrashing boy. "Help me keep him still so he won't hurt himself."

A few of the surrounding students as well as Ron and Hermione immediately grabbed hold of Harry, pinning him as securely to the floor as they could.

"Spock," McCoy said from his position on the floor, "don't just stand there; do something!"

"Invasion of the mind is a serious offence, Doctor."

"I don't give a damn about the law right now, Spock!" McCoy spat. "This boy's life is on the line! Now can you help him or not?"

"I may be able to construct a temporary telepathic shield..."

"Then do it," McCoy snapped, "but for heaven's sakes, do it quickly!"

With a quick nod, Spock pushed his way through the remaining crowd and knelt down next to Harry, who was now panting as though he had just run a marathon. The boy's eyes were wide open and staring, the pupils almost completely rolled back inside his head as he hovered on the edge of unconsciousness. Vulcan fingers met human skin and the effect was almost instant.

As he was sucked into the swirling confusion which was now the boy's mind, Spock dimly heard Snape ordering everyone away from them and telling them that class was dismissed.

_He paced angrily in his cell, not noticing or caring that his three servants had pressed themselves against the wall in order to remain out of his way. He had tried more times than he could count to blast them out of the cell, but they had remained locked inside. _

_He uttered a bitter laugh and punched the wall in frustration, not caring that he nearly broke his hand. "Oh he is good." His voice was a high pitched hiss as he glared in the direction of the corridor. "He is very good."_

_"My Lord?" Bella had warily come closer to him, her anxious gaze filled with concern. _

_"That Muggle," he repeated. "He claims that there is no magic in this..." he gestured around him with disdain, "place." Spitting out the final word, he turned to glare once more at the shimmering wall before him. "But that is one of the best shield charms I've ever seen."_

_"It will not hold us, my Lord," the young and inexperienced Death Eater said. He could not remember the man's name. Not that it mattered, of course. "You are the greatest wizard who ever lived."_

_He sighed at the blatant attempt to gain his favour. "I am...but this," he pointed at the wall, "is cunning. This is the work of a master."_

_"No one can match your skill, my Lord."_

_He rounded on the Death Eater instantly. "Do not underestimate our opposition."_

_The man instantly ducked his head and he caught a brief glimpse of shame on the face before it was mercifully hidden from sight. "Of course not, my Lord. I meant no offence."_

_"It is because of fools like you that my plans keep failing!"_

_"Yes, my Lord," the man mumbled obediently. _

_He sighed and forced himself to calm down. "It is not your fault that you are incompetent. That is, after all, why you need a strong and talented master to guide you."_

_"I am eternally grateful for your patience with me, my Lord."_

_He narrowed his eyes as he thought he detected a hint of anger. "Did I annoy you?"_

_"No, my Lord."_

_He uttered a short laugh and turned to Bella, who was also grinning in amusement, knowing what would happen next. "You dare to lie to me?"_

_"No, my Lord."_

_"Yet you just did."_

_"My Lord," the man said almost desperately, "you did not anger me."_

_"Another lie?" He hissed, watching in satisfaction as the man shrank further away from him. "You are fortunate that there is a magic dampening spell on this room," he snarled. "You know what punishment you would get for such disobedience?"_

_"The cruciatus curse, my Lord."_

_"Well," he said as he turned his back on the man, "at least you understand the concept." _

_Rage at their situation threatened to engulf him and he strode back to the door. "When we are free from this cursed place," he finally said, "you will be punished." He glared through the shimmering wall before him at the distant red figure of the muggle. "Perhaps I should give you a little reminder. It will take my mind off our situation. You are happy to amuse me, aren't you, my servant?"_

_The man visibly struggled not to swallow in apprehension. "Yes, my Lord," he whispered. _

_He clicked his fingers. "Bella, you have the honours. Be sure to make it entertaining."_

_The face of his most trusted servant twisted into a deranged leer as she bowed low to her master. "I will enjoy this privilege, my Lord."_

Shocked at the image appearing before him, Spock managed to maintain the block that he had enforced since his entry into the boy's mind. He felt old instincts stirring within him as he saw the defenceless man being beaten for his own master's amusement. He wanted to reach out of the bond and tear the master to pieces for such cruelty, but he had his task. He had to keep the mental block in place, and that was taxing enough without having to try to attack the master telepathically as well. Logic suddenly enveloped him and reminded him that he would be breaking various taboos, that his considered action was completely unacceptable.

Yet that did not stop him from wanting to complete it.

With the arrival of Scott at the door to the cell, the bond began to lose its power and dim as Voldemort's attention was diverted.

A few moments later and he managed to pull himself out of the boy's mind as well, gasping slightly from the effort. Every moment had been a struggle, every second a battle to keep the entire shield in place, and it had exhausted him.

Yet he shrugged off the helping hands and stood up by himself, forcing his body not to sway in fatigue. The boy still sat before him; shaky and pale but otherwise unharmed.

"Thank you," Harry said shakily, gratitude shining brightly through his eyes, mixed with a little awe.

"I have never seen," Snape said slowly, seemingly shaking himself out of shock, "such a powerful display of occlumency."

Spock shook his head. "It was not occlumency, Professor, but a Vulcan mental technique."

"Your people do this often?"

"We only use the full extent of our telepathic capacities when we are threatened, or in the protection of others. In any other context, it is forbidden."

"Which is a relief," McCoy quipped, dropping Harry's wrist and looking up at Spock with a critical eye.

"I wish we had more Vulcans here," Ron said wistfully. "You'd be able to beat You-Know-Who before he knew what hit him."

"That is impossible."

"There could be other Vulcans out there though, couldn't there?" Ron asked hopefully, jabbing his finger up at the ceiling.

Spock nodded thoughtfully even as McCoy yanked up his wrist and began feeling for a pulse. "There is a distinct possibility that that is the case, however it is unlikely that they have developed sufficient interstellar transportation to reach this planet."

"Not to mention," Kirk butted in, "the fact that they might not have the same abilities in this universe."

"Why not?" Ron demanded.

"Because humans can do magic here," Kirk explained, "but not in our universe. It might be a similar case for the Vulcans."

"A very logical deduction, Captain."

McCoy frowned and dropped Spock's wrist. "Sit down."

The customary eyebrow levitated itself towards the hairline. "I beg your pardon Doctor?"

"I said sit," McCoy snapped impatiently. "Before you fall down."

"Bones?"

"I am quite alright, Doctor," Spock insisted, although he allowed McCoy to forcefully steer him to a chair.

"I'll be the judge of that, you stubborn pointy eared computer! I don't want people running around when they could collapse at any minute!"

"Doctor I was hardly 'running around'."

"That's a moot point, Mister Spock," McCoy retorted. "And you know it is. If you stay put, you'll recover a lot faster."

"If you will wait a moment," Snape said, "I have a potion which may speed up the process." He left in a flap of cloaks.

"What was it like mate?" Ron asked after a moment or two of silence.

"What was what like?" Harry repeated dumbly, sinking into a chair at the nearest table.

"Having two people inside your head at once?"

"Ron," Hermione said quietly, "I'm sure that he doesn't want to relive the process by telling us what happened." Yet despite her words, she looked curious.

"It was..." Harry seemed to search for the appropriate words, his arm flapping around limply a bit in a weary attempt at hand actions.

"Watery," Kirk filled in.

McCoy and Hermione stared at them and blurted out in unison, "watery?"

Kirk shrugged. "Well...mine was."

Before anyone could dispute that fact, Harry nodded. "Jim's right, it felt kind of...watery."

"How?" Several people demanded at once.

"I was unaware that my mental presence was infused with water," Spock muttered.

"Things sort of...drifted by me," Harry explained hesitantly.

"And everything was distorted," Kirk added, "until the process settled down."

"It was as though...Voldemort," Harry ignored the winces all round, "was a ball of fire, his memories searing into my brain, and Spock was the water that soothed it and put it out..." he looked up at them, "if that made any sense..."

"It does," Kirk assured him.

"I think we're all missing the bigger picture," Hermione suddenly announced. "The important question is; why was You-Know-Who so angry in the first place?"

"All I saw before Spock put the mental block in place was a small room," Harry said. "He punched a wall and said something, and then the image was gone."

"Spock?"

The Vulcan turned to look at the Captain. "It would appear that Voldemort is agitated by his continued stay in our ship's brig."

McCoy snorted. "You have a gift for understatement."

"Did he do anything dangerous?"

"As Mister Potter previously stated, he attacked a wall and then held a conversation with his three companions."

"Do you know what it was about?" Kirk asked, barely giving Spock time to pause to collect his thoughts.

"I believe that he had mistaken a force field for a magic dampener, Captain."

Kirk nodded. "That would make sense. Anything else?"

"He believes that Mister Scott organised their abduction from this universe. He then proceeded to dispute with one of his companions and threatened him with punishment. When the contact ended, the punishment was already underway and Mister Scott had arrived on the scene."

There was a brief silence.

"Well, at least Scotty has everything under control for the time being," Kirk said.

The door banged open and Snape bustled in once more, two small cups in his hand. "These should restore your energy levels," he explained shortly as he drew to a stop in front of them, handing one over to Spock.

"What's in it?" McCoy asked suspiciously as he caught sight of the slightly bubbling liquid.

Snape's lip curled. "You would be better off not knowing."

"Is it at least safe for him to drink?" Kirk asked anxiously.

"It has been in use for decades," Snape said. "There should be no complications, unless his unique biology attempts to sabotage our efforts."

"It wouldn't be the first time," McCoy muttered darkly before nodding Spock the go ahead.

Snape was holding a cup impatiently in front of Harry, who had turned to watch Spock with interest as the Vulcan slowly sipped his potion. "Potter, I am not a human shelf. Take the potion."

"Sorry sir," Harry muttered. His eyes remained on Spock, who looked reassuringly impassive.

Snape sighed. "Potter, the whole point of a potion is that you drink it, unless you would prefer to wait and hope that your hands manage to absorb it through the cup."

With a glare at his Potions Master, Harry quickly downed the potion, his eyes widening in surprise. He promptly spat it back out.

"Potter, I hardly gave you that potion so that you could spew it all over my robes," Snape said angrily a he vanished the mess from his clothes with a flick of his wand. With another flick, he had refilled the cup. "Try to swallow it, this time," he sneered.

Harry glared at Snape, but did as he was told and drank the disgusting potion.

Snape nodded in final approval as the two cups were handed back to him. "The affects should be almost immediate." Even as he spoke, light began to creep back into the two pairs of eyes looking at him, and both sat up slightly straighter. "Good. Now. My next class should be arriving soon, I would suggest that you vacate the classroom, unless you wish to repeat first year studies for the day. Mister Spock," he added to the Vulcan as the others turned to leave, "at some point I would like to discuss what you saw when you were in telepathic contact with Potter." He smirked. "Hopefully it was not too mentally scarring." Ignoring collective scowls thrown his way, he turned to sweep out the door.

"Professor?" Hermione asked in surprise as Snape stopped impatiently in front of her.

"I am going to run some errands," Snape said in irritation, "unless you plan to stand there indefinitely. Mister Spock will be taking the remainder of my classes, since he proved adept at teaching you."

"We'll collect your work for you, Spock," Kirk promised.

"That is much appreciated, Captain."

"Perhaps if you would let me pass?" Snape demanded. "I find it highly ironic that I cannot get out of my own door." With one last glare at all of them, he swept out of the room, the rest of the group following him.

oOo

"What the ruddy hell do ye think ye're doing?" Scott bellowed as he caught sight of what was happening inside the cell. "Security!" He yelled over his shoulder, barely waiting for the answering footsteps before taking down the force field and stepping inside.

The self proclaimed Lord turned to stare at him. "Do not interfere."

"This is not ye're ship, and I'll interfere whenever I ruddy well like," Scott snapped, stepping forwards and throwing the deranged woman off the pulp which had once been the man's face. He turned to face one of the security men. "Get the medics down here fast."

"Aye sir." The man quickly moved out the room and over to the intercom, his three fellows stepping forwards to take his place, phasers levelled at the prisoners.

"Move the other three into separate cells," Scott ordered.

"You will not touch me," the Lord hissed.

Scott felt his face colouring. "Listen laddie," he said, pushing himself right into the snake like face, "I gave that man an order to move ye into ye'r own room, and he'll follow that order. Not yours."

There was a high laugh from beyond the red eyed face. "They're just muggles, my Lord," the woman shouted as she was dragged out of the room by force. "You will be able to take your revenge on him later."

The Lord smiled slowly, a sadistic light dancing in his eyes. "My servant is quite right. I shall simply bide my time, muggle."

"Then ye'll bide it on the most barren penal colony in the Federation," Scott snarled. "Take him away and make sure none of them can reach each other."

"Aye sir."

Alone in the cell now, Scott allowed himself to pinch the bridge of his nose and sigh wearily.

_A sudden sound grabbed his attention and his head snapped up, darting around the deserted corridor._

_He heard a voice angrily yelling and short bouts of scuffling. "Get your hands off me!"_

_"Tohn?" He whispered to himself, not daring to yell out. Making his decision quickly, he crept down the corridor quietly and peeked around the corner. _

_Tohn stood amidst a group of last year cadets, his arms pinned to his sides and his eyes glaring. There were six of them in total, all circled around him so that some of their faces were hidden. But the expressions which he could see were ugly to the point of violence, fists clenched and teeth bared. _

_"What did you do?" Tohn suddenly demanded, his head jerking back suddenly. _

_"I'm not letting you into my head," the ringleader snarled. _

_"You're telepathic," Tohn deduced, a cold smile quirking his lips. "I love a challenge."_

_"You're outnumbered, Gaaran."_

_"Get two more of your goons," Tohn said slowly, arrogance in every syllable, "and it'll be an even fight."_

_The ringleader punched him in the jaw, sending Tohn's head snapping backwards. Scott briefly considered yelling and running at them, but stopped himself short. There was only one of him, and he wasn't exactly the most skilled at the fighting arts. His best bet would be to get help, but he found himself rooted to the spot. _

_"We know what you are, Gaaran."_

_Tohn spat blood onto the ringleader's shirt. "How very astute of you. It seems that your pretty little nickname for me finally sank in."_

_"Don't play games with me, Gaaran," the leader spat. _

_"Isn't that my line? What do you want from me anyway?" Tohn sniffed, sounding utterly unconcerned about the fact that he was pressed into a corner with blood running from the corner of his mouth._

_"We want you to leave the Academy."_

_"What?" Tohn laughed. "You must be joking! Do you have any idea how hard I worked to get in here?"_

_"He probably brain washed most of the instructors," one of the others spat. _

_"I wouldn't put it past him," the leader said. _

_"The point is," Tohn interjected, "that I'm here, and I'm not leaving."_

_"Then we'll just have to make you reconsider, right guys?"_

_There was a general murmur of assent from the group. _

_Tohn laughed once more. "You seem awfully keen to get rid of me."_

_"You have no idea, Gaaran," the leader snarled. "Scum like you shouldn't even be allowed in the Federation."_

_"I'm telepathic, not a monster."_

_"You and me both know that this is just an act, Gaaran," the leader hissed._

_Tohn's eyebrows shot to his hairline. "Really?"_

_"Yes. And don't even think on using more telepathy on me, Gaaran," he added, jerking his head back slightly, "I'm stronger than you."_

_"Yes, so you think," Tohn said patronisingly. _

_"Don't try using it on any of them either," the leader warned. "I've gone to a lot of trouble to protect them."_

_"That's so touching," Tohn gushed. "The little ring leader is trying to keep his minions safe from the evil old Gaaran."_

_"Spare me," the older cadet snapped. "Just think about what I said."_

_"I'm not going anywhere," Tohn promised. "I worked hard to get here, and I'm going to prove that Gaarans aren't filth."_

_The leader snorted. "Yeah. Right." He glanced at his companions. "What do you all say about giving him a little reminder?"_

_With identical grins on their faces, they closed in on Tohn, who was still glaring at them defiantly. Turning away, Scott closed his eyes but could not close his ears to the sickening thuds and occasional crunch that accompanied them. Taking a deep breath, he turned and fled, his first thought on the medics just a floor away. _

With a jerk, Scott lifted his head and found himself once more in the cell, a concerned red shirt standing before him. "Sir, are you alright?"

He waved his hand and straightened up. "Fine, Ensign. Keep me up tae date on the prisoners." He turned and left for the Bridge, ignoring the confused look on the Ensign's face, and the panic on his own.


	18. Past, Present and Future

**18. Past, Present and Future.**

Biting back a groan as his abused head came into contact with the bright light outside of his darkened quarters, Scott prowled through the ship in search of coffee and a sandwich. Damn, but he needed that right now. As if the stress of finding the three missing officers wasn't enough, he had the cursed nightmares to deal with too, which had even started happening when he was awake. Not to mention dealing with the fury of Admiral Archer, who was convinced that Scott had deliberately made the three officers disappear and was hindering the search party in charge of finding them.

That man had become paranoid about Scott since he'd played a part in his prize dog's disappearance. Well, the only part, really.

Stalking through the corridors to the first mess hall he came across, he ordered his sandwiches and coffee and then sat down. His uncharacteristic glare was enough to put off even the bravest of people coming to see him.

Ordinarily, if Scott was in one of his foul moods, Kirk would come over and talk to him – whether he was welcome or not – and listen to any of his half insane with anger ramblings about trainees who didn't know a spanner from a cucumber. Then Kirk would laugh and quip that McCoy was having the same problem in sick bay – at this point he would rub his neck gingerly and ask Scott to guess who got the punishment.

Usually, Kirk never came over to Scott alone, apparently preferring the back up of a trained psychologist who wouldn't make things worse. After all, he hadn't gotten his reputation for trouble making back in Iowa for no reason...

If McCoy was there, he would grumble at Kirk and tell him it was his "own damn fault for being such a pain in the ass and damn easy target" and threaten to hypo the Captain back to the Stone Age if he didn't stop cackling right this second since he was spilling and spraying his food everywhere. Scott would simply sit there and watch them in amusement, always surprised at how easy it was for them to shake him out of his irritated stupor. Then again, it wasn't exactly difficult; he was a naturally cheery person and it was entertaining after all to see Kirk spraying cereal over his CMO as he started yet another laughing fit, while McCoy simply sat there, dripping in fury.

Occasionally, though very rarely since Spock usually worked through part of his lunch break, the First Officer would come down and join them, providing additional support for both the Captain and the Doctor. Which made Scott wonder if he really was that frightening when he was angry...

On such an occasion, Spock would swiftly pat the Captain on the back while at the same time handing McCoy a napkin, calmly telling them both in his own logical way that they were being moronic and should get a grip.

Scott shook his head sadly at the realization that this was not going to happen this time – that he was instead just going to be left to sit here and stew. In the back of his mind, it suddenly occurred to him that he probably should have told their families of their disappearances by now, but he had clung to the hope of getting them back. Besides, it was top secret within the Federation, as morale was still low so soon after the battle with Nero, and the admirals did not want to risk making this information public. He did not doubt though, that somehow Sarek would have already received word of the incident since he held such considerable influence in the admiralty, being a well respected ambassador. That of course led him to wonder if ambassador 'Selek' had heard yet, to which he scoffed at himself and told himself not to be so stupid – of course he had heard; he was an ambassador too and was close to Sarek for obvious reasons. Spock's older self was probably angry enough to blow steam by now, Scott thought morosely. He had managed to lose three very important –

...his mind backtracked. Spock's older self. From the future.

"Bloody hell!" He randomly bellowed to the startled room at large, jumping to his feet and knocking his coffee everywhere. "I cannae believe it!"

A timid looking ensign sitting nearby peered at him. "Uhm...sir?"

"Not now lad! I have more important things tae do!" Leaving a spreading puddle of coffee and confusion behind him, he scampered off to the Bridge, not even stopping to bang his head against the wall in frustration.

"How could I have been so stupid?" He asked a random yeowoman as they both waited for the turbolift.

She gaped at him. "Sir?"

"It was before me the whole time!" He laughed, missing her slightly panicked look.

"Sir, are you alright?" She asked as Scott started hopping up and down on the spot in excitement.

"I did it!" Scott bellowed. "I found a solution!"

"A solution to – sir?" She broke off as Scott randomly hugged her.

"I did it lass!" He sang, spinning her around once before waltzing into the turbolift and shutting the door on her confused face.

"I just hope it works," he added as he stepped off the lift, grinning from ear to ear.

Chekov shot him an alarmed look. "Meester Scott?"

"I found a way to get them all back lad!"

Everyone stared at him as he sat down, astonishment on their faces.

"Lieutenant Uhura," he said happily, "get me Ambassador Selek."

"Aye sir."

Within moments, a familiar face filled the screen. It was more heavily lined and wizened than he knew, but the dark eyes and essence remained the same. "Mister Scott, may I inquire-"

"Ambassador," Scott interrupted, ignoring his resulting look of surprise and amusement, "do you know what happened?"

Everyone blinked and stared at Scott as if he had gone mad, but the older Spock's face had twitched into a half smile. "Mister Scott, I know of a great many occurrences. Perhaps you should be more specific."

Specific. Right. "Have ye heard what happened to the Captain, McCoy and you – or...Spock?" He fumbled, trying to cover his mistake after remembering too late that no one else on the Bridge knew about "Selek's" true identity.

Uhura, ever quick on picking up on the nuances in sentences, gasped. "Are you..?"

"Yes," older Spock replied when she broke off. "I am Spock."

"Ambassador," Sulu cut in, "you can't be."

"I assure you that I know my own identity, Mister Sulu."

"You just disappeared!" Sulu insisted. "You can't be all the way over there as..."

"An old Vulcan?" Spock finished in amusement. "It is quite true, Mister Sulu. I travelled through the same black hole as Nero."

"You're...from the future?" Chekov choked out. "Chto za huy!"

"Indeed, Mister Chekov," Spock said, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

"Can we just get back on topic?" Scott asked above the rising hubbub of stunned voices. Everyone immediately quietened down. "Thank ye," he said wryly, returning his full attention back to the Ambassador. "Sir, did ye ever find yerself in a situation like this one?"

The man on the screen thought deeply for a moment, a frown of concentration almost tugging his eyebrows together. "I did have the misfortune to witness numerous disappearances. However," he added before Scott could get too much more excited, "none transpired exactly like this one."

Scott wanted nothing more than to let loose a strong of swear words, but forced himself to remain in control. "How is this one different?"

"It involves the apparent appearance of magic."

"Vunderful," Chekov sighed under his breath.

"Ye cannae help us at all?"

"Unfortunately not, Mister Scott," the Ambassador said with deep regret, but his face suddenly changed as he appeared to consider something. "However..." he trailed off, deep in thought.

"What?" The bridge crew asked in perfect unison.

He regarded them in amusement before continuing. "It may be possible to locate a collision or tear in the fabric of space."

"You mean..." Scott's mind was whirring as he thought of all the possibilities, "...a hole in time and space?"

"Like in Doctor Who," someone muttered from the science station.

"Who?" Sulu asked.

"Doctor Who," the Ensign repeated.

Sulu frowned. "I just asked you that, why are you repeating it?"

"That's his name!"

"What is?" Sulu asked in frustration.

"No no no no," the Ensign said quickly. "Not what. Who."

Sulu opened his mouth to argue further but was interrupted by Ambassador Spock, who had finally decided to take pity on him, it seemed. "This is reminiscent of the comedy routing performed by Abbott and Costello. The name of the Doctor, Mister Sulu, is Doctor Who."

"Oh..." he gave Spock and the ensign weird glances.

Spock raised an eyebrow at him. "We have merely studied ancient Earth media, Mister Sulu." The helmsman snorted at the use of the word 'studied'.

"Can we get back on track here?" Scott asked in irritation. "Ambassador, how do you know a rip in time and space will be there?"

"You have failed to find them here, have you not?"

"Well..."

"I presume that you have scanned the history banks of the computer in the event that they travelled back in time?"

"Aye...but what if they're in the future?"

"Then one would hope that I would know, provided that they were not propelled beyond my lifetime."

"...Okay. I have too many doubts about that one."

"Mister Scott, after examining the evidence presented to us, we must conclude that they are not here and must therefore be at the origin of your passengers."

"That's impossible! They say they come from a magical world!"

"Once you eliminate the impossible then whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth, Mister Scott," the Ambassador said calmly. "It would also be logical to assume that they have in fact been swapped with the passengers, for whatever reason."

"It is nae that simple!"

"Of course not," Spock said in true sympathy. "Such occurrences never are. The only course of action left available to you is to determine the exact origin of your passengers, and to locate it."

"They're more tight lipped than Aldeberan shell mouths, Ambassador."

"That is to be expected. However, you must learn to have faith in your own capabilities, Mister Scott. How much information have they given you?"

Scott sighed glumly, knowing that this discussion was now useless but answering the question anyway. "Only that they think we've stolen their magic, one of them is a 'Dark Lord' and that I am a 'Muggle'."

"I see."

"Do you know what that means, Ambassador?"

Spock looked as nonplussed as Scott felt. "Negative. The term 'Muggle' holds no familiarity with me whatsoever."

"Aye, well...the four of them have never exactly made any sense."

"Considering their situation I would hardly believe that to be surprising. It is a wise precaution to take when one believes oneself to be in enemy hands."

"Aye," Scott admitted, grudgingly agreeing with the Vulcan, "but it does nae make my job any easier."

"You have all performed remarkably well given the current circumstances," Spock said, allowing his gaze to encompass the room. "Consider it useful practice for the future."

"Why?" Uhura asked, narrowing her eyes at him. "How often does this happen?"

Spock's eyes twinkled for a moment but his expression remained serious. "Suffice it to say that the Enterprise and her crew did not receive their rather unique reputation through simple exploration missions."

"Chyort voz'mi!"

"Indeed, Mister Chekov."

"Are ye sure ye cannae give us any more pointers?"

"I have no additional theories. However, I can transmit to you my research on time travel and alternate timelines. Apart from that...I wish you all the best of luck."

"We need all the help we can get, Ambassador," Scott said wearily, feeling his headache returning with a vengeance behind his eyes.

"I am always available should you need assistance."

Scott nodded as the Ambassador lifted his hand in the customary Vulcan farewell. "We'll be sure to remember that, Ambassador. Thank ye for yer help."

A small smile flickered across the impassive face. "You are welcome. I believe that is the correct expression." With one last nod at them all, he was gone.

"I am receiving his research, sir," Uhura announced.

"Send it to the science department Lieutenant."

"Aye sir."

Sighing, Scott leaned back in his chair and pinched the bridge of his nose as a wave of pain tore through his skull. He was barely aware of the minutes passing by until he jerked his gaze up at the feel of a hand on his arm, his eyes meeting with Lieutenant Uhura's. "Are you alright?"

"Aye," he answered her whisper, so that the rest of the crew did not hear him. "I just need a wee bit of rest."

"We'll handle things up here Scotty," she assured him kindly. "You go get some sleep. You look like you could use some."

Scott chuckled. "Beauty sleep never worked on me anyway," he joked back, climbing to his feet. "Thank ye lass."

"Just take it easy Scotty."

Nodding his agreement, he stepped into the turbolift and briefly considered going to sick bay. His performance was beginning to be affected by his lack of sleep due to the flashbacks, not to mention the fact that he was fed up with managing the constant headaches. Maybe a sleeping pill or pain relief would help. If anyone asked, he could just tell them that the search was giving him too much stress – which was true after all, just not completely.

Abruptly, he felt intense fatigue crashing into him and he stumbled, catching himself on the turbolift wall before he fell. Bright spots danced in front of his eyes as the pain in his head increased.

A whisper blew into his left ear and he shook his head, trying to get rid of it. "..._you..._" Eyes widening at the words, he actually swatted at his ear but the whisper laughed.

"..._you_..." It seemed to fade and then grow, always saying the same word; a verbal finger of accusation.

Suddenly, it exploded into a voice and Scott leapt into the air in shock. "You can't hide forever..." The words seemed to stutter almost like a broken recording, and the last syllable drew out for several seconds – a never ending sigh in Scott's head. "You have to face me," it hissed. Stuttered. Threatened.

"Get out of my head," Scott snapped, hoping he didn't sound as scared as he felt.

A high, deranged laugh. "You have to pay for what you did," it said, the words echoing within his skull.

"I never meant to hurt anyone."

"You did," the words were drawn out and breathy, sending shivers down Scott's spine. "You ruined everything. Destroyed all that was worked for..."

"It was an accident."

Another cruel laugh. "You can't lie to your subconscious, Monty. You have to face the truth sometime." With one last echoing laugh it faded away, leaving Scott sitting on the floor, shaking and gasping for breath.

"Sir?" A pair of boots asked him. Shaking his head in order to clear it, Scott forced himself to look up to find the true source of the voice. A blurred face stared back at him and Scott blinked, relieved to see his revision return to normal. "Sir, are you alright?"

"Aye," he whispered weakly, hauling himself to his feet.

"Do you need any help getting to Sick Bay, sir?"

He waved her off, stumbling out of the turbolift. "I'm alright…" he said, vaguely drifting off as he headed in the direction of his quarters, leaving her standing there.

A voice laughed. "You didn't handle that very well."

"Shut up," he said through his teeth; gritted against the almost overwhelming pain in his head.

"Sir?"

"Not you," he snapped at the confused crowd before him before almost falling through his quarters door. Ignoring their palpable concern, he made his way to the bed and surrendered himself to exhaustion.

"This," the voice echoed in his head, "will be fun."

Scott groaned and clutched his head as his surroundings melted away. This was definitely getting out of hand.

_"Doctor!" Scott burst through the doors of the Academy Sick Bay breathing hard, eyes darting around for anyone who could help him. "I need help here!"_

_A frazzled looking man came running out of a side door, an alarmed looking nurse on his heels. "Alright son," he said, grabbing Scott's arm and dragging him further inside, "get on that table and we'll see what's wrong."_

_He shook his head and jerked his hand free of the man's grasp. "Not for me. My friend."_

_"Where?"_

_"Busy getting beaten tae a pulp," Scott said frantically. _

_"I'll call a security guard," the nurse said, running out of the room. _

_The doctor held up his index finger. "One moment. I'll gather together some things and rouse another doctor. Why they all chose now to take a break…" his voice dimmed as he hurried into another room. _

_The woman ran back in, a security man following her, a phaser on his hip. "What's the situation cadet?" The man asked as the nurse hurried off to help her boss find his kit._

_"There's a whole crowd of cadets," Scott said urgently, "all of them against Tohn."_

_"Tohn?"_

_"My friend," Scott explained. "The one who's getting attacked."_

_The doctor hurried back into the room, dragging another doctor behind him. The second man looked as though he had just been woken up from a nap after finishing the night shift; his clothes were rumpled and the eyes beneath the messy hair were struggling to remain alert. Both doctors carried reassuringly heavy looking bags and behind them, the nurse reappeared with a colleague, a stretcher balanced between them. _

_"Alright," the security guard said, "where is he?"_

_"Follow me," Scott ordered, tearing out of the room and down the many corridors, fear clogging his throat and chest, making it almost impossible to breath. For a moment he thought he had taken a wrong turning since there were no sounds of a struggle, but he saw a crumpled body and knew that he was right. He just hoped he wasn't too late. _

_Guilt clawing at his brain for running away, he dropped to his knees and reached out to cradle the broken mess that had been his friend. "You left him here," something whispered. _

_"Don't touch him," someone barked. "We need to assess his injuries first."_

_Scott obediently stood back and out of their way, his eyes drawn to the scene no matter how much he wanted to tear them away. He watched as the doctors gently prodded Tohn's blood splattered trousers, trying to see where the break finished, not yet trusting their tricorders with such different physiology. He watched as Tohn's swollen eyelids flickered and his abused mouth contorted into a frown of pain. The cadet was barely recognisable; bruises littered the areas of flesh that could be seen through the torn uniform, some limbs bent at uncomfortable angles. _

_"Broken femur," one of the doctors muttered and Scott saw the nurse write it down. _

_"Dislocated jaw and shoulder," the other added. _

_"Four broken fingers. Presumably from trying to block blows."_

_"Severe bruising. There might be internal haemorrhaging…"_

_"We'll have to get him back to Sick Bay to be sure…"_

_They both exchanged glances and then looked up at the security guard, motioning faintly in Scott's direction. The guard caught on immediately and grabbed Scott's arm, trying to drag him away. "Come on, cadet."_

_"No," Scott said firmly, struggling to stand his ground as the burly man continued to push him. _

_"Cadet," the second doctor said firmly, "there's nothing more you can do here. You need to return to your studies."_

_"Are ye kiddin'?" Scott asked in disbelief. "Ye want me to just bury my face in books when my best friend is injured?"_

_"That's exactly what I'm saying," the doctor snapped as they gently transferred Tohn to the stretcher, ignoring his moans of pain. _

_"Can't ye at least let me see him to sick bay to see if he's going tae be alright?"_

_"Cadet…" the doctor broke off abruptly as his colleague put a hand on his arm. _

_"Actually Marcus, he has a point. We both know that if we force him to leave now he won't concentrate on anything. It would be better to put his mind at ease."_

_"Fine," the man grumbled, "but any consequences are on your head, not mine."_

_"You worry too much Marcus," the other doctor berated gently as they lifted the stretcher off the ground gently. Their assistants immediately moved to pick up their bags, placing stray pieces of equipment inside. _

_The security guard ran in front of them as they hurried Tohn to the hospital wing, yelling for people who were going to classes to mind out the way or they would be joining the Gaaran in the sick bay before they could blink twice. As people leapt aside around him, Scott allowed the world to melt away until all he saw was the stretcher in front of him, and the limp hand that dangled over the side. _

_As soon as they burst through the doors to sick bay, the doctors started bellowing for all information on Gaarans to be drawn up and given to them as soon as possible, since it was obvious that they might have to operate. _

_"Will he be alright Doctor?" Scott asked anxiously before they took his best friend through the doors to the operating room. _

_The first doctor stopped and regarded him with something dangerously akin to pity. "I hope so son, but we don't have nearly enough information on their physiology. We haven't been sent all of it from Gaaran medics yet..."_

_"Do yer best Doc," Scott said. _

_The doctor favoured him with what was surely meant to be a reassuring smile, but which came out more as a grimace. "I will son. Don't worry."_

_He disappeared through the doors and for a brief moment, Scott was tempted to follow him, to stand by his friend's side as he was operated on, but he knew he would just get in the way. A feeling of helplessness washed over him, drowning him. _

_"You abandoned him," something hissed in his ear, but he barely noticed. All he could do was stare at the closed doors before him. _

_"Here," a man suddenly said, making Scott jump, "have a chair."_

_Scott numbly gave his thanks and sat down, desperately trying to stop his hands from shaking. The man smiled slightly at him, making Scott feel even more nervous since there was yet more pity in this man's eyes, before hurrying back over to where he had been working before._

_For hours, people rushed around him as though he were invisible. Occasionally, the doors before him would open and a nurse would come bustling out with bloodied operating equipment, drop it into an area to be sterilised and then go running back in with another piece of equipment. Sometimes, Scott heard the occasional bleep or alarm from beyond the impenetrable doors, perhaps signalling his friend's deteriorating condition. _

_He didn't dwell on that, instead focusing on the fact that this was __**Tohn**__, that his friend couldn't, and definitely wouldn't, give up. He'd fight until the very end, probabilities of survival notwithstanding. But most of all, he hoped that he wasn't actually as helpless as he felt, that Tohn had somehow picked up on his mental presence and latched onto it, using him as a reminder that he had something left to live for. Someone waiting for him. _

_Yet no news came. He leaned back and sighed, waiting for the tortuously slow hours to pass, listening to the ticking of an old clock as it counted down the time left until someone came out of the room and told Scott the news that he had been waiting to hear. He half expected the clock to stop, like a heartbeat, when the doors opened once more and the two doctors came out, but it stubbornly kept going. _

_He barely dared to breathe as the two men came up to him and he stood up, legs shaky and barely able to hold him. They said something, but he could not hear them, all he could hear were the words whispered by the voice in his head, the everlasting accusation that this was his fault, that he could have prevented this. Crying with emotion, he collapsed into the chair behind him and barely felt the concerned gazes of the two men above him. _

_Tohn was alive. _

oOo

The Dark Manor was bustling with activity, the loyal servants to the Dark Lord running around furiously, paper being sent flying after various people, blood curdling cries filling the air. No one seemed to notice him as he steadily made his way past the full torture chambers and towards the room where he knew he was needed. That suited him fine; it gave him a chance to collect himself before plunging himself into this.

The doors flew open before him at the flick of a wand and he strode in, ignoring the fact that most of the people assembled in the meeting room immediately leapt out of their seats and muttered greetings to him. He knew that some were terrified of him, and that they would obey his every whim, but such a thing never gave him any pleasure. Though he usually gave off the appearance of someone hungry for power at Hogwarts; demanding that all things be done to his satisfaction or else, he really detested the fact that these people were terrified of him to the point that they would go out of their way to please him. Unfortunately, that usually meant death for anyone who got in their way in doing so, and those innocent people weighted heavily upon his conscience.

The only man who was not terrified of him turned around, a sneer on his face. "So the esteemed favourite finally arrives."

Snape inwardly rolled his eyes at the man's attitude. The world could be falling around them and this man would still take the time to insult anybody who crossed his path. "I have been busy at Hogwarts, as you well know, Dolohov."

The man snorted. "So you say."

"I'm sure that, were he here, the Dark Lord would agree that it is necessary to keep an eye on what the enemy is doing," Snape said quietly. "They are after all a suspect in this whole fiasco, or had you forgotten?"

"Of course I didn't forget," the man spat, glowering at Snape from across the room. "But the Dark Lord is mistaken in trusting you. You could have been doing anything."

Snape's expression immediately turned cold. "You dare to question the Dark Lord?" He hissed, stepping slowly towards the man and watching as everybody else scuttled out of their way. "He will hear of this, Dolohov."

The man's eyes showed terror now, but the face remained arrogantly assured of itself. "And who do you think he'd believe, _Severus?_" He spat.

Snape considered him a moment before finally deciding that arguing with the Death Eaters really would not get his job done any faster. Giving him another brief, narrowed eyed glare, he dismissed the man with a swirl of his robes, turning around to face everyone else. "Well?"

"We have been unable to locate him," someone muttered, looking down at the floor.

The bumbling, incompetent fool. "I can see that, Mister Pettigrew, but what have you done about it?"

Dolohov scoffed from behind him and Snape turned to face him. "The brilliant little spy doesn't know?"

"Of course not," Snape snapped. "I can hardly monitor our own activity from Hogwarts without Dumbledore getting suspicious."

"How convenient."

"Arguing amongst ourselves," Snape said, "will not get our Master back any quicker." He turned to face the people around him once more. "Well?" He repeated.

"We've tried many spells," Dolohov finally said when no one else answered. "None of them have worked."

"Which ones have you tried?" Dolohov did not answer and Snape sighed. "Dolohov, you will remember that the Dark Lord left me in charge in the event that something should go wrong during his experiment? Unless you want to suffer my displeasure, I would suggest telling me of what has been happening."

"As the person in charge," Dolohov said obstinately, "you should know."

"I do not have time for games. The Dark Lord could be anywhere and it is our duty to bring him back."

Dolohov stared at him before apparently deciding that he did not want to face their leader's wrath when he returned. "Pettigrew has the list of spells."

Peter Pettigrew hesitantly shuffled towards Snape, a single piece of paper in his shaking hands. Snape snatched it from him, cursing the fool's slowness. They did not have years to do this. "Is this all?"

"We have been very busy with...other tasks," the man stammered.

Snape stared at the three spells written on the piece of paper. "Even by your standards Pettigrew this is ridiculous."

"I just write down what the Masters tell me!"

Dolohov immediately walked forwards and grabbed the man by his collar. "Are you calling the Dark Lord's favourites incompetent?"

"N-n-no..."

"Then just what were you saying, you slimy piece of filth?"

Snape flicked a wand almost lazily and forced the two apart before Dolohov could pulverise Pettigrew. "As I said, fighting amongst ourselves will not help the Dark Lord's return. Mister Pettigrew, what were the other tasks?"

"The interrogation of suspects, sir," the man stammered.

That would explain the screaming. "Have you gathered any useful information?"

"We're working on it," Dolohov snapped. "There's only so much persuasion you can give before you have to try out new methods."

"Or," Snape added, "from the level of decay I can smell in the air; new suspects. I would be careful with your methods, Dolohov. You do not want to kill people who could potentially have useful information simply because you decided to lose your temper."

"Maybe if you made a better truth potion," Dolohov spat back, "I wouldn't have to."

"There is nothing wrong with my potions," Snape drawled. "It is merely the suspects that you pick out. They cannot reveal anything if they have nothing to reveal. If the potion does not tell you anything, then do not waste time torturing them to death. We do not have centuries with which to work."

Dolohov scowled and Snape sighed at the piece of paper. "I can tell you with certainty that we are running behind, thanks to your tendencies to go off track and not concentrate. Dumbledore has already attempted and discarded twice as many spells as these," he snapped, throwing the parchment back at Pettigrew, who actually squeaked while trying to catch it as it flew through the air. "I have of course been made privy to a few and have written them down," he continued, "for you to examine."

"How do we know they will work?"

"They won't."

"But-"

"I have already told you, Dolohov; Dumbledore has discarded them, which means that he considered them to be unsuitable. Yet there are elements within the spell structure that he believed to be useful. However, he did not give me any specifics. It is our job to find the useful elements and put them together to retrieve the Dark Lord, before Dumbledore does the job for us."

"Why would the batty old coot want the Dark Lord back?" One of the Death Eaters – a new recruit, Snape remembered – scoffed.

Snape waved his wand and sent the man crashing backwards into the wall, knowing that the Dark Lord's ranks had come to expect this level of punishment. "Imbecile," he hissed as the new recruit got shakily to his feet once more, rubbing his head. "Dumbledore wants to return the three men who appeared when our Master disappeared."

"They switched places?" One of the Death Eaters asked nervously.

"Precisely. Perhaps there is some hope for this miserable excuse of a search team after all," he said quietly. "In trying to return them, he will retrieve our Master."

"And kill him," Dolohov muttered.

"Which is why we must find the counter spell before he does," Snape added. "I have a few hours before I must return to Hogwarts, during which I will help you with the search. However, I will expect you all to continue the effort after I have gone." He waited for them all to nod before sitting down at a nearby table. "Good. Now, let's begin."


	19. Meet the Family

**19. Meet the Family. **

_Opening the old fashioned wooden door quietly, Scott poked his head into the room and tried his best to smile, aware that it did not seem quite as genuine as it should to the figure lying on the bed. Tohn had been transferred to a hospital nearby when it became apparent that the Academy doctors did not know enough to look after the Gaaran. In fact, it was a miracle that they had been able to operate on him at all._

_Tohn had retreated to a vegetative mental state for a few days, apparently repairing the damage within his body as a Vulcan would; through a mental trance. He had channelled all of his energies into recovery and as a result, had remained bedridden after he had woken up. His mind and body were exhausted after the trials that healing so many injuries brought, even with a steady stream of fluids and vitamins to support him. _

_Tohn turned a weak head to look at Scott, grinning tiredly as he saw who was at the door. "Heeey, Scotty. Come on in."_

_"Tohn...I'm sorry."_

_"What for?" An alien mouth pulled down into a frown. "You weren't one of the ones beating me up."_

_"No..." Scott admitted. "But I was there."_

_"Yes, I know."_

_Scott's well rehearsed apology stuttered to a halt at this latest admission. "You knew I was there?"_

_Tohn shrugged wearily. "Of course."_

_"How?"_

_"When a person is in peril," Tohn explained patiently, "the mind, if it has telepathic ability, automatically searches for those who can help, or who are close to them. In humans, this would be a flashback, I suppose, although I wouldn't know personally," Tohn smiled slightly. "My mind reached out for you, Scotty, because you're special to me. And it found you, closer than I had originally thought. I knew then that I would be found." Intense eyes bored into Scott's. "You gave me hope, my friend."_

_Scott looked down at the fingers which wrapped around his wrist. "Ye're...not angry with me for leaving ye there?"_

_"Of course not," Tohn chuckled. "What else could you do? If you'd run in there yelling with arms flailing then BOTH of us would have been attacked."_

_Scott snorted suddenly. "My arms don't __**flail**__," he sniped before he could stop himself. _

_Tohn regarded him with unmistakably fond affection in his eyes. "I've seen you practising, Scotty, and trust me, 'flail' is too kind a word."_

_"Hmph," Scott replied in mock offense. _

_"Do you want to meet my family?" Tohn suddenly questioned. _

_"I suppose so," Scott agreed. _

_"Good," Tohn chuckled, "because they're coming now." At Scott's perplexed look he added, "telepathic, remember?"_

_"It's easy tae forget," Scott said, only slightly sarcastic. _

_The door opened once more and a tall man who looked disturbingly like Tohn stepped through, a young girl and a young man trailing behind him. Scott recognised them instantly from the photo which he had seen hanging up on Tohn's wall at the Academy on the first day. _

_"Ah, Montgomery Scott," the man boomed, coming forwards with his arms wide open and treating Scott to a hug, "Tohn has told us so much about you."_

_"...He has?" He finally asked when he was released from the crushing embrace, only to find himself given the same treatment by the other man. _

_"Oh yes," the man said. "Did he not tell you? All Gaarans have family bonds. We can communicate with each other quite easily, even over long distances."_

_"That would explain why he never made calls home," Scott pondered, holding out his arms and going towards the young girl. _

_"No no no no!" The man said in amusement. "There is a different greeting for girls. Like this," he said, lifting his hands up to Scott's and twining the fingers together and then separating them. _

_"Oh," Scott answered, repeating the gesture for the young girl. "I'm sorry, I did nae know..."_

_"Well, that's to be expected isn't it?" The man asked cheerfully. "We're a new planet and I know that Tohn here isn't exactly very informative on some subjects."_

_Tohn shrugged from where he lay on the bed. "You can't expect me to remember to tell him everything."_

_The man chuckled. "Glad to see that the little bout of rough and tumble hasn't dampened your spirits! I'm sorry!" He abruptly exclaimed before Scott could remind him that it was more than a 'bout of rough and tumble', "I forgot to introduce us. My name is Tohr. I'm Tohn's father."_

_"We have similar names," Tohn said rather unnecessarily. "It's a popular tradition on Gaar. The son gets the father's name, but usually with a slight change. It can get a bit confusing, especially within the household."_

_"We have a similar system on Earth," Scott said conversationally. "Usually though, the middle name of the son is the father's name. It's becoming more and more rare," he added, "and it was rare to begin with."_

_"I'm Pohn," the young man announced when Scott looked at him curiously. "Don't say it," he added in exasperation when Scott opened his mouth, "I've heard from every human I've met so far what it sounds like. Trust me, I know."_

_"I was just going tae ask if ye were Tohn's brother," Scott said calmly, inwardly trying hard not to laugh. _

_"Oh," Pohn muttered, though he did not look convinced. "In that case – yes, I am."_

_"And this," Tohr said proudly, gesturing to the young girl, "is Ehlette. Tohn's fifteen year old cousin."_

_Ehlette immediately blushed. "I sorry," she said in heavily accented standard, "I speak not much English...is nice to meet you now. Tohn talks much of you. I know you for years, it seems," she concluded, grinning shyly at him. _

_"It's good tae meet ye too, lass."_

_"I'm sure that you two will get along great," Tohn said impishly from the bed, "you're in the same age range."_

_Pohn scowled. "Don't you start Tohn. You're supposed to be a patient in this place, not a stand up comic."_

_"I've missed your unwavering cheerfulness."_

_"And I've missed your intelligence," Pohn shot back at his brother. _

_"Ouch," Tohn chuckled. _

_"The others will arrive soon," Tohr announced suddenly, an amused gleam in his eyes. "Their shuttle got delayed, I'm afraid."_

_"I know," Tohn said simply. "Uncle just told me."_

_Scott suddenly felt like a third wheel in the room amongst all of the people who were now obviously communicating telepathically with one another. "I'll leave ye to it, then," he finally muttered after a few moments of silence. _

_"Oh, don't leave on our account!" Tohr protested cheerfully. _

_"I should get back tae the Academy," Scott clarified. _

_"You don't have any mechanical experiments waiting to blow up, do you?" Tohn asked in unhidden amusement. _

_Scott grinned in reply. "I do, as a matter of fact..."_

_Tohn rolled his eyes and Pohn snorted. _

_"Well, don't blow up our room," Tohn warned, waggling a finger in an over the top gesture. "I need somewhere to come back to tomorrow."_

_"I'll try not tae," he replied seriously. _

_"We'll see you at some point then," Tohr said hopefully. "Maybe you could visit our home on Gaar during the next holiday?"_

_"I'd love tae sir," he replied, the mention of the grand house suddenly reminding him that technically he was in the company of royalty. _

_"Tohr," he corrected with a warm smile. "Is there a name which you prefer?"_

_"Nae...Tohr."_

_"In that case, Monty, we'll see you on Gaar, if all goes well," Tohr said cheerfully. _

_"Aye," Scott grinned. "It was great tae meet you all." He nodded once more and then turned to walk out the door. _

_The scene shifted as though from an old movie extract, and Scott suddenly found himself stood before a grand house several months later, a clearly recovered Tohn standing next to him. _

_"Welcome to my Uncle's house!" Tohn announced with no small measure of pride evident in his voice. _

_Scott gaped. It truly was royal; with so many circular structures perched on the main bulk that it looked more like bubble wrap than an actual house. Large, sprawling grounds lay behind the house, and Scott could almost imagine the animals that roamed there, although he could not see any from his vantage point. _

_"Wow..."_

_"I know," Tohn agreed cheerfully. _

_"When you said," Scott continued, still gaping helplessly at the sight before him, "that if ye were rich on this planet ye had many circular structures, I did nae imagine this..."_

_"Well," Tohn chuckled, "my Uncle _is_ the ruler of Gaar. He can't really live in a square house, can he?"_

_"Of course not," Scott quipped, "because squares are just weird."_

_Tohn laughed and grabbed Scott's arm, pulling him up the enormous drive way. "Unfortunately you can't see my house," he said regretfully, "we're having it renovated."_

_"Really? What are ye doing tae it?"_

_"Making it less square and putting on ten extra rooms...No – leave the bags," Tohn broke off when he saw Scott double back down the path to retrieve their luggage, "the Ba'nesh will care for it." Sure enough, a Gaaran came into view and, bowing, grabbed their cases and hurried into the house ahead of them. _

_"Ye have a butler?" Scott asked, a vague feeling of surprise filling him although it seemed inappropriate given the status of the family who lived here. _

_"Is that the word?" Tohn asked in an off-hand voice as he pushed open the door. "I still have so much to learn it seems...but yes. He is a butler – he has served my Uncle well for fifteen years."_

_Scott whistled as they entered the room. Everything there was round; the tables, the shelves, the seats. Even a strange looking device which Scott assumed must be a loose imitation of an Earth television. Tohn noticed his gaze and grinned. _

_"We got that television fitted a few months ago," he explained, walking over to it and flicking a switch on its side. Figures immediately surrounded the two people in the room, moving right through them. "We upgraded it a bit, though."_

_"It's like the early Earth attempts at 3-D..."_

_"That's what we based it on," Tohn conceded, "but as you can see it's slightly different." He indicated the floor, where a precipice had suddenly appeared, giving the illusion that they were standing over the edge of a cliff, but not falling. "It's more realistic this way."_

_"I cannae argue with that..." Scott muttered, staring in wonder at the machine before him. _

_"Don't worry, I'll let you take it apart one day," Tohn chuckled. He gestured the room at large after switching the television off. "I thought you would like this house. My Uncle has good taste."_

_"Aye," Scott said weakly, still surprised at all that he was seeing. It made his eyes hurt with the sheer smoothness of it all. "Everything is so...round."_

_Tohn laughed, a silver, tinkling laugh, and put an arm around the human's shoulder, steering him into what appeared to be a living room. "You really should see the rest of it, then. That was just an entrance hall. But for now, take a seat. I'll go and fix you a drink. My Uncle is away on business," he continued, seeing how nervous Scott was even as he sat down in a marshmallow shaped chair, "so he won't be back for a few hours. Don't worry, you have plenty of time to prepare yourself."_

_"Now," the Gaaran clapped his hands together in glee, "what would you like to drink?"_

_"What have ye got?"_

_"A'rza juice, milk from a vrohk..." his eyes twinkled at Scott's lost expression. "Or coke, if you prefer."_

_"I think I might have the coke, if that's alright with ye."_

_"Of course! I offered, didn't I?" Tohn grinned. "I'll be back in five. It takes a while to find anything in his fridge. It's walk in, you see, and I have a terrible sense of direction..."_

_Scott shook his head in amusement at his friend's antics as he disappeared from the room, and allowed himself to sink back on the chair, surprised when it began vibrating. _

_"It senses nervousness," a voice explained from the doorway, and Scott jumped in surprise. "When someone who is nervous sits back in it, like you are now, it vibrates. It's supposed to calm the person down, although personally I find it more infuriating than useful."_

_Pohn strode further into the room, sitting on a sofa opposite of Scott. "Be careful."_

_Scott blinked. "Do nae worry," he said finally, "I think I have the vibrating under control..."_

_Pohn rolled his eyes. "I didn't mean about that. I want you to be careful about what you do to him."_

_"To Tohn?" Scott asked in wide eyed disbelief. _

_"No," Pohn drawled, "to the King of Sheba."_

_"Why do I have tae be careful about Tohn?" His insides had abruptly turned to ice as he remembered the warning from what seemed like a lifetime ago. _

_"You're his best friend," Pohn explained, as though talking to someone very slow. "Too many people have hurt him in the past, and I was always the one to pick up the pieces. I can't see that happen to him again."_

_"I will nae hurt him."_

_"Can you promise that, without a hint of a doubt?"_

_"Aye!" Scott said forcefully. "I would never do anything to hurt him!"_

_"Take care you don't," Pohn said simply. "We Gaarans are a very close knit group. That's what happens when you share a mind link with the entire family." His gaze bored into Scott's. "I am more protective than most," he added. "So I advise you to keep your promise."_

_The chair began stubbornly to vibrate again as the gaze refused to relent._

_"Feeling nervous?" Pohn asked with just a hint of menace beneath the flippant tone. _

_"I'll keep my promise, Pohn."_

_"Good," the Gaaran said simply, breaking Scott's gaze at long last. "You're a wise one, Monty."_

_"...found it!" Tohn exclaimed loudly as he entered the room, waving a coke in the air. "It was a bit dicey though...I almost couldn't get out." He handed Scott his drink. "No need to be nervous," he said, indicating the vibrating piece of furniture, "I'll tell you what to see to my uncle."_

_"Thank ye," Scott said vaguely, unable to ignore the two pairs of enigmatic eyes boring into his own. _

oOo

"BY ORDER OF THE HIGH INQUISITOR OF HOGWARTS

_All student organisations, societies, teams, groups and clubs are henceforth disbanded._

_An organisation, society, group or club is hereby defined as a regular meeting of three or more students. _

_Permission to reform may be sought from the High Inquisitor (Professor Umbridge)._

_No student organisation, society, team, group or club may exist without the knowledge and approval of the High Inquisitor._

_Any student found to have formed, or belong to, an organisation, society, team, group or club that has not been approved by the High Inquisitor will be expelled. _

_The above is in accordance with Educational Decree Number Twenty-Four. _

_Signed: Dolores Jane Umbridge, High Inquisitor."_

They all eyed the poster outside the Great Hall in varying degrees of disgust or contempt, surprised that even Umbridge could go this far down the path of the power hungry.

"Fudge is insane," McCoy concluded. "After this, no one can deny it."

"This isn't the work of Fudge," Hermione pointed out, having glanced over at them as she passed on the way to breakfast. "It's Umbridge."

"Fudge is insane to put her in charge," McCoy emphasised. "Nuts, off the deep end, gone with the fairies! You name it, and Fudge is it."

"I agree with you mate," Ron said, having come over with Harry to join them, "but we can't do anything."

"She's trying to turn the school into a damn military organisation," McCoy growled, eyeing the poster as though he wanted to burn it. "She's turning the students into robots designed to carry out her every whim!"

"The process of turning the students into an automated being would be decidedly painful, Doctor. I sincerely doubt that even Umbridge is capable of such an act."

Ron blinked blankly between both of them. "Robots?"

"Like an electric powered moving suit of armour," Harry explained helpfully.

"And they say Muggles can't do magic."

"They cannot," Spock pointed out.

"Sometimes it looks like it," Ron argued. "Look at the blight lulb, or the woosh doosher."

"You mean the light bulb and the dishwasher Ron," Hermione corrected absently even as Harry grinned.

"Both of which can be easily explained in a technological fashion. Firstly-"

"Look, Spock," McCoy interrupted, "don't start explaining the science behind it, ok? It's too early in the morning for that."

"Not all possess the same apathy towards knowledge which you typically exhibit, Doctor."

"It's alright," Ron interrupted the brewing argument before it could escalate any further, "I probably wouldn't understand it anyway..."

"You must not underestimate your learning capabilities, Mr Weasley. You know more than you think you do."

Ron looked extremely doubtful of that statement. "That would be why I get D's for everything then."

"Honestly Ron!" Hermione admonished. "You only get those grades because you refuse to try! If you just applied yourself better..."

Ron rolled his eyes. "Here we go again."

Hermione glared at him. "I'm serious, Ron. You can't keep shirking your studies for Quidditch. You won't get anywhere if you don't set aside the time for homework, and by the time the exams come, it'll be too late to do anything."

"I won't give up Quidditch," Ron said angrily.

"Fail then," Hermione said, equally incensed.

"Speaking of Quidditch," Kirk said loudly, trying to break up the argument, "when is our next match, Harry?"

"Not for a while," Harry said distractedly, his eyes fixed on his friends in exasperation. "Ron, Hermione, we've already had this argument. No one is giving up Quidditch. There's no point arguing about it now," he added, indicating the corridor, where Snape was striding purposefully. Both teenagers abruptly silenced.

Snape, having spotted them, walked over. "Mister Spock," he said, with as near a hint of approval in his voice as was ever heard from the Potions Master, "it appears that you handled my classes well in my absence." He levelled a sneer at Harry. "Understandably, that must have been an onerous task."

"It was necessary," was all Spock could think to say.

"I won't be needing your help any more, fortunately for you," Snape drawled. "At least, for the time being."

"Understood. I will be ready to substitute again, should you require it."

Snape nodded in acknowledgement of this and turned on his heel, disappearing into the Great Hall.

McCoy stared after him. "Well," he drawled, "he's a chatty one..."

"We should probably join him," Kirk said, gently steering the group in the direction of more food.

Breakfast arrived with a large helping of general outrage at the newest measure enforced by the High Inquisitor, who was annoyingly sitting at the staff table with the most repulsive grin spread across her squat, toad like face that anyone in the castle had ever seen. This only caused much more outrage, simply because she seemed to be enjoying their dilemmas far too much for someone who was claiming to be acting in the "Ministry's best interests", and in fact it was obvious to the students who, after glaring at her grin for a good solid ten minutes, decided that she was in fact a power hungry, ridiculously self important, maniac. In their opinion, of course.

It was only as they were leaving the Hall for their first lesson of the day that the full extent of this decree was realised. Angelina, the Gryffindor Quidditch captain, was standing with one of her friends just outside the hall, loudly complaining about the new restrictions. Kirk, Harry and Ron did not give this much thought until she suddenly pounced on them, demanding their immediate attention despite the fact that they were about to be late to class.

"Harry! Ron! Kirk!"

"Jim," Kirk corrected absently and without real feeling as he realised that she was too worked up to hear him this once.

"It's alright," Harry said quietly, "We're still going to-"

Whatever he was going to say was immediately cut off by Angelina, who furiously and verbally pounced on him, apparently put out that he had neglected to remember the point which she was about to make. "You realise she's including Quidditch in this?" Her voice was shrill and high with the injustice of this, and several passing Slytherins snickered. She studiously ignored them. "We have to go and ask permission to re-form the Gryffindor team!"

"That's ridiculous!" Kirk said along with Harry and Ron's violently surprised exclamations.

"You read the sign!" Angelina continued, bringing herself back under control. "It mentions teams too! So listen Harry...I am saying this for the last time...please _please_ don't lose your temper with Umbridge again or she might not let us play anymore!"

"We'd better remind Spock of that little pact, Bones," Kirk whispered under his breath. "We can't have him risking the Slytherin team getting banned as well."

McCoy gave him a look which clearly told him what he really thought of the matter, but decided to nod instead. "We'll keep that pointy eared menace in line, even if I have to hypo him to death."

"Without hypos?"

"Well...I have other methods. A good poking with a stick maybe. Even a logical Vulcan wouldn't be able to avoid being poked into submission."

"That's no good," Kirk said with faint grimness. "I've tried."

"What?" McCoy sputtered. "Don't tell me that you go around _poking_ him!"

"How else would I convince him to come to my quarters for chess?" Kirk asked mischievously. "Alright, in my defence, that was only the first two times. He came willingly after that."

"Hmph," was McCoy's only reply. "So it works."

"It seems that way, but if you're going to use that tactic on him, be careful," Kirk warned. "He's probably wizened up to it by now and you don't want to wake up a few moments later with your neck feeling like it's been in a vice. He has that neck pinch act down to perfection..."

"Advice coming from the best," McCoy smirked as they began moving towards class once more.

"Trust me Bones," Kirk grinned, "I _know_ what I'm doing. Stick with me kid, and you'll get along fine."

"Kid?" McCoy questioned with just a hint of menace. "Don't push me, Jim."

Kirk's response was to slap him on the shoulder as they settled into their usual seats in Professor Binns' classroom. Kirk being Kirk sat in the middle, while McCoy and Spock sat on either side of him.

"I find this entire scenario curious," Spock said after a few moments.

Kirk gave him a funny look. "You find the Treaty Against The Attack Of Muggles With Malicious Intent curious?"

"Of course not, Captain," Spock replied dryly. "Although it is a rather pivotal development in the relations with the vampires of that period."

"Just get to the point, Spock," McCoy groaned from within his arms on the other side of Kirk. His head was lying on the table and he was glaring at the front of the class, apparently too bored to care about the fact that he looked like he was going to fall asleep in that position.

"I find the actions of Professor Umbridge to be highly disorienting."

"Didn't we discuss this before?" McCoy asked, his voice slightly muffled. "We concluded that she and Fudge were insane, remember?"

"In actual fact Doctor, I was on the verge of making an important observation when you began your usual mutterings on the topic of insanity."

"Which were?" Kirk prompted over McCoy's incomprehensible set of muffled insults.

"She must have a significant motive for ordering the ban of student organisations, groups and clubs."

"Apart from being a power hungry maniac, you mean?" McCoy questioned from within the comfort of his arms.

"Indeed. My hypothesis is that she discovered the existence of the student group which was being discussed in the Hog's Head."

McCoy gave a low whistle. "That would mean that someone told her. No wonder Umbridge enforced that ban..."

"Do you think it was Snape?" Ron interjected, having overheard their conversation.

Spock shook his head. "I find it highly unlikely."

"He's been looking for reasons to have stricter rules since he came to the school, apparently," Ron continued, completely ignoring what Spock had just said. "And he's the only teacher who was there at the time."

"Who said it was a teacher?" Kirk asked. "Snape said that you were being watched."

"Did you see the person who was supposed to be watching us?"

"Of course not," Kirk said, "then we wouldn't have been watched secretly, would we?"

"I saw a figure at the far end of the room," Spock interjected.

"That could have been anyone," Ron dismissed. "It's Snape. It has to be."

"Don't be ridiculous Ron," Hermione muttered, bending over her notes. "Why would he tell Umbridge when he was the one who warned us about being watched? If he'd really been trying to find evidence against us, he would have taken the list or waited until he heard when our first meeting was."

Ron had no immediate answer to that, but he still did not look convinced. Harry, meanwhile, had crept towards the window and back, and quickly grabbed the attention of his two friends.

The next few minutes passed uneventfully, with McCoy gradually falling asleep on the desk and both Spock and Kirk writing notes. Binns continued to drone on and on, lulling the class into a state of lethargy that could not be achieved so quickly even with a few of McCoy's hypos.

"Sir?" Harry suddenly asked, waving a hand frantically to attract Professor Binns' attention, a look of urgency on his face.

Binns looked astonished to see that he actually had an audience before him, although the audience wasn't what anyone could call attentive. "Yes Perkins?" He asked vaguely.

"I'm not feeling very well sir," Harry lied, quite obviously. "Can I step out of class for a moment?"

"Of course Perkins," Binns said. "Go to the hospital wing."

Harry sighed in obvious relief. "Thank you sir." He hopped down from his chair, a bundle stuffed suspiciously under his school uniform, and walked towards the door with an obviously healthy gait.

Binns stared vaguely around the room for a brief moment, apparently lost for words. Finally, he decided to look down at the stack of notes in his hands, and his face became dazed once more as he immersed himself in the lesson, Harry's exit and the rest of the class already forgotten.

"...no more Muggle attacks for another fifteen years," he droned. The class immediately began being lulled back into a state of unconsciousness.

"Was he smuggling?" McCoy asked in disbelief, still staring at the door.

"No Bones," Kirk said sarcastically.

McCoy scowled at him. "You weren't necessarily meant to answer that."

"Hedwig was injured," Ron explained, having overheard McCoy's loud question.

"Hedwig?" Spock repeated in confusion.

"Harry's owl. We think her wing was broken and that's why she didn't deliver the post at breakfast," Ron explained.

"Are such attacks on owl frequent?"

Hermione answered. "For Harry: yes."

Some time later and they were stomping down to Potions, the two humans making no secret of the fact that they would much rather be anywhere else. Many other students appeared to be thinking along similar lines; their faces were grim and set, they stride unenthusiastic. Only Spock and the Slytherins appeared unaffected by the generally gloomy atmosphere.

"Yeah," Malfoy drawled as soon as everybody was within ear shot, "Umbridge gave the Slytherin team permission to continue playing straight away, I went to ask her first thing this morning." He smirked over at the Gryffindors, all of whom were glaring back at him.

"Well it was pretty automatic," he continued. "I mean, she knows my father really well, he's always popping in and out of the Ministry…it'll be interesting to see whether Gryffindor are allowed to keep playing, won't it?"

"I thought you had a word with him," McCoy growled at Spock, even as Hermione tried to verbally restrain Harry and Ron.

"I did," the Vulcan replied. "However, he promised only to refrain from insulting you and the Captain directly."

"Well that was successful, wasn't it?" McCoy spat as he glared at the Slytherin boy. "Maybe it's my imagination, but I don't remember even Jim being that obnoxious."

"I was not _obnoxious_." McCoy glared at Kirk. "Alright," the Captain conceded, raising his hands in a placating gesture, "maybe a little."

"…from what my father says, they've been looking for a reason to sack Arthur Weasley for years…" Malfoy persisted. "And as for Potter…" he glared malevolently at the boy in question, "my father says it's a matter of time before the Ministry has him carried off to St Mungo's…apparently they've got a special ward for people whose brains have been addled by magic."

"I'll show him addled," McCoy growled as Malfoy began making grotesque faces. "How the blue blazes can he joke about something like-"

Neville _no_!"

And suddenly the corridor descended into a desperate struggle to restrain Neville, who was struggling frantically within Harry's grip.

"What the - ?" Kirk asked no one in particular before instinct took over and he joined the other Gryffindors in restraining Neville.

No one noticed as Crabbe and Goyle stepped forwards, cracked their fists and glared at everyone who had the audacity to be alive and in the corridor. Malfoy stood protected behind them, slight shock mixing with a type of savage glee that did not go unnoticed by a very unamused Spock.

"Mr Malfoy that was hardly necessary."

Malfoy's smirk did not waver. "Oh I think it was," he said triumphantly as he surveyed Neville's red face. "Anything to see Longbottom's famous tomato impression. It's the only fruit he's intelligent enough to mimick."

Before Spock could open his mouth to retort, the dungeon door opened and Snape appeared, his cold black eyes taking in the scene around him.

"Fighting, Potter, Weasley, Longbottom? Ten points from Gryffindor. Release Longbottom, Potter, or it will be detention. Inside, all of you."

"What in the name of Merlin," Ron asked as Neville stomped into the room, "was _that_ about?"

"I have an idea," McCoy muttered to the other two officers, and their expressions became solemn as they all reached the same conclusion.

They entered the classroom warily and took their places. "I'm not sure if this is good or not."

"What?" McCoy asked.

"The fact that we don't have Spock as a teacher. On the one hand, he won't nerve pinch us to death for failing to make a potion properly, but on the other hand it means we have to suffer through Snape…"

"'Suffer' is overly hyperbolic, Captain."

"You would say that," McCoy retorted.

"You will notice," Snape said as he shut the door with an echoing thud, silencing the class immediately, "that we have a guest with us today."

As Snape gestured towards a corner, Umbridge struggled to her feet and gave a ridiculous bow of her head, all but waving her clipboard at them as if to remind them of why she was there. Snape's lips curled in obvious distaste.

Kirk groaned. "I have a bad feeling about this."

"We're going to be slaughtered," Ron confirmed.

"We are continuing with our Strengthening Solution today. You will find your mixtures as you left them last lesson; if correctly made they should have matured well over the weekend – instructions on the board. Carry on."

The class was soon lost in a sea of activity as everyone struggled to tame their out of control mixtures. Snape prowled around the desks as usual, thoroughly unnerving several of the more timid students. Umbridge was striding purposefully towards him, only avoiding crashing into several cauldrons due to a few miraculous millimetres.

"This should be good," McCoy murmured. "Who do you want to win, Spock?"

"Win?"

"You like Snape, and Umbridge likes-"

"-liked," Kirk corrected, a grin on his face, "she gave up on 'catching' him, remember?"

"Right. So," McCoy concluded, "who would you bet on?"

"Vulcans do not engage in activities of random chance, Doctor."

"Leave it to you to ruin a perfectly good sentiment," McCoy groused. "Alright, who would you bet on to win an argument, Jim?"

"I don't know," Kirk said thoughtfully, ignoring his cauldron's hissing protests as he turned the heat up too high. "Umbridge has power, but Snape has an arsenal of insults…"

"I bet on Umbridge," McCoy said. "If anyone is deluded enough to take on Snape, it's her."

"She probably won't win," Kirk pointed out.

"I didn't say she would. I'm thinking of changing the bet to who will look like the biggest fool…"

Kirk snorted. "Then I'm not betting. It'll just offend you."

"Fine," McCoy shot back, but his eyes twinkled. "I'll just bet for you."

Kirk shrugged. "Suits me. Who am I betting for, then?"

McCoy tapped his nose mischievously. "You'll find out. Now watch," he commanded.

"Well, the class seems fairly advanced for their level." Umbridge was currently having a very interesting conversation with Snape's back as the latter checked Dean Thomas' cauldron. "Though I would question whether it is advisable to teach them a potion like the Strengthening Solution. I think the Ministry would prefer it if that was removed from the syllabus."

Snape stiffened and turned to stare at her, but apparently did not wish to dignify that remark with an answer.

"Now…how long have you been teaching at Hogwarts?"

"Fourteen years."

"God _damn_ it Jim!" McCoy exploded, much to the shock of most of the students, "you spilled acid on my _foot_!"

Snape redirected his attention immediately, lip curling when he caught sight of McCoy hopping about on one foot and swearing. "Kindly focus on your potion, Mr Kirk," he said softly, eyes hard. "I'm sure that your classmate would hardly relish any additional ruthless applications of acid to his foot. McCoy," he snapped, "stop hopping around. You will knock your cauldron over."

"It burned through my shoe!" McCoy complained loudly.

"Perhaps you should see to him, Professor," Umbridge suggested sweetly.

With a scowl set firmly in place, Snape stalked over to McCoy, shoved the hopping surgeon unceremoniously in a chair, and grabbed his foot.

"There is only a small hole," he announced finally, glaring at the foot.

"I'm a surgeon!" McCoy exclaimed, "and I recognise an acid burn when I see one!"

"McCoy, I have neither the time nor the patience for your Gryffindor theatrics. Perhaps if you spent as much time on your work in my class as you do in making an idiot of yourself, your skills would become adequate. Ten points from Gryffindor." He swept towards the cauldron which he had been inspecting.

"Well," McCoy muttered, "it was worth a try."

"Did I really spill acid on your foot?"

"Yes, but it was only enough to cause a small tingle. I was trying to create an argument for the bet…"

"I do not believe that your endeavours were necessary," Spock said, nodding subtly at the two professors.

"Besides," Kirk added as they resumed watching, "all you did was make yourself win the bet for ridiculous behaviour…" McCoy promptly flicked a worm in his Captain's eye, from where he had found it crawling along a shelf.

"You applied first for the Defence Against the Dark Arts post, I believe?" Umbridge was asking a decidedly irritated looking Snape.

"Yes."

"But you were unsuccessful?"

"Obviously."

Kirk snorted loudly and hid his face in his cauldron when Snape glared suspiciously at him. He promptly gagged from the fumes and slid to the floor, only Spock's quick reflexes preventing him from tipping the cauldron's contents over his head.

There was an audible sigh from the front of the class. "Someone keep Kirk away from that cauldron for the next five minutes, until he has enough oxygen in his system to function like a somewhat rational being." He watched as Spock helped his Captain into a chair. "And that, Mr Kirk, is why one of the basic rules of potion making is _not_ to put your head in the cauldron."

"I…"

Snape raised an eyebrow and Kirk fell silent. "Doctor McCoy, perhaps you should keep an eye on him – I did not tell you to leave your cauldron!"

"I can't do both!" McCoy protested.

"And Mister Spock cannot control three while your Captain is indisposed. You will need to multi task, McCoy. Surely even you can accomplish such a simple task."

Snape turned back to Umbridge, cutting off all protests.

"And," Umbridge simpered dutifully, completely unfazed by what had just happened besides the fact that her hand was now frantically scribbling notes, "you have applied regularly for the Defence Against the Dark Arts post since you first joined the school, I believe?"

Snape looked angry enough to throttle her. "Yes."

Umbridge smiled significantly, her eyes shining with a knowing light. "Do you have any idea why Dumbledore has consistently refused to appoint you?"

"I suggest you ask him."

"Oh I shall," Umbridge said gleefully, scribbling down a note to herself.

"I suppose this is relevant?"

"Oh yes. Yes, the Ministry wants a thorough understanding of teachers' – er – backgrounds."

"You did not require such knowledge for any other professor," Spock pointed out unnecessarily.

"It is hardly any of your business," Umbridge said hautily.

"It is an unjustified treatment of Professor Snape."

McCoy frantically began making signs at Spock to stop talking _now_ before he got another detention.

"There is no basis for accusation."

"I wasn't exactly accusing," Umbridge said, beginning to sound slightly flustered.

"Then what precisely was the aim of your query?"

"I…"

"That is quite enough," Snape snapped, regaining control of the situation immediately.

"Professor, I do not believe that she understands…" Spock broke off as he finally caught sight of McCoy's frantic gestures. "Doctor, may I ask why you are currently behaving as though you have contracted Cardonian muscle spasms? Such a condition cannot be displayed in humans…"

"I believe," Snape drawled, "that Mr McCoy was attempting to stop you from talking."

"Indeed?"

"Indeed," Snape repeated, sounding uncannily Vulcan for a split second. "Although his subtlety has all the finesse of a mountain troll."

"So do Spock's social skills," McCoy muttered through clenched teeth.

Snape, who had caught sight of Harry's rubbery potion and had stalked off to criticise it, did not hear, but Spock did.

"Doctor, I assure you, my social skills are adequate."

"Then you have absolutely no clue…"


	20. The DA

**20. The DA.**

The door to the kitchens opened to a bustle of activity as the House Elves hurried around, preparing things for the next meal. Reassuringly normal odours assaulted Snape's nose as he stepped into the room, telling him that at least the House Elves were not experimenting again. His keen eyes scanned the room for evidence of the House Elf he needed to speak with, knowing that, due to the hour, he was more likely to be able to find him here rather than calling him away from his work.

"Master Snape," Dobby said, hurrying up to him, "is there something Master is wanting?"

Snape nodded, glancing around the room warily, noticing as he did so that several elves had turned to him in surprise. It was not often that he came down to the kitchens, after all. "Yes, Dobby, but not here. This is a private matter," he murmured, leading the way out of the kitchen and to a smaller supply room nearby, where there was no one in sight.

"Master Snape is wishing for Dobby to do something secret?" The elf asked, hopping up and down in an excitement that could never be restrained.

"You know Harry Potter."

Dobby's bounces became more pronounced and enthusiastic. "Yes, sir, Dobby is knowing Harry Potter, sir."

"Good," he replied, though personally he was at a loss to understand why Dobby appeared so excited about such a prospect as knowing Potter. "I need you to tell him something, but only if he speaks of it first, do you understand?"

"Dobby understands, sir, Dobby would do anything for Harry Potter."

As would everybody else, he noted with disdain. "If he mentions needing a room for practice, you must tell him of the Room of Requirement."

Dobby's eyes widened. "Dobby is not knowing where that is sir. Dobby has never been needing to."

"I will show you. If Potter shows curiosity about the room, you must tell him of it, but do not under any circumstances mention that I showed you where it is."

"Dobby understands, sir."

"Good. You will also not mention this conversation to anyone." At Dobby's nod of understanding, he began walking. "Then follow me."

oOo

A few days later found the three officers in the Room of Requirement; McCoy arguing with Spock, while Kirk watched with an expression torn between amusement and exasperation.

"We're not supposed to know they're coming, remember?" McCoy screeched.

"We overheard their conversation in the pub, Doctor."

"But that's not the _point_! If they _do_ manage to get in here, they'll see all of the cushions and books laid out and wonder how we knew they'd come here!"

"That is not an issue."

"What the hell do you mean? Of course it damn well is! You know what Snape told us!"

"He merely instructed us to appear unsuspecting," Spock said patiently.

"EXACTLY!" McCoy exploded. "How is _this_," he gestured the room around him, "unsuspecting?"

"We can simply claim that we are using these facilities."

"Duh!"

"You've been around teenagers too long," Kirk said quietly as he popped another kernel of popcorn into his mouth.

"God damn it Jim!" McCoy yelled, rounding on him, "don't you start that _now_! And is that..._popcorn?_"

"It sure is." Another kernel went into the mouth.

"You're insufferable."

"You were arguing with Spock," Kirk pointed out, giving the Vulcan an apologetic look as McCoy diverted his attention once more.

"We have to pack this back up."

"Doctor, you were not listening to me."

"We have to pack this back up _now_!"

"You are being highly illogical. There is no reason for us to pack up the equipment, as it will evidently be needed by-"

"We have visitors," Kirk said quietly, nodding at the doorway where a wide eyed group of teenagers were clustered, watching the argument. "Come in," he beckoned.

"I hope we're not interrupting anything..." Hermione began, glancing between Spock and McCoy.

"Only a raging argument that I'm quite happy to post pone," Kirk said cheerfully.

"What's all this?" Harry asked, indicating the cushions and books around the room.

McCoy glared at Spock, who calmly began an explanation. "We were utilising this equipment to further our knowledge of defence."

"You can't do magic," Ron pointed out.

"Nevertheless, we can acquaint ourselves with it."

"What about the cushions?" Harry continued.

"As Starfleet officers we must maintain our practice of self defence."

"Oh," the three teenagers finally said. Spock gave McCoy the Vulcan equivalent of 'told you so'. McCoy sulked.

"We can show you some techniques," Kirk offered. "I'm sure Spock would be glad to show you the Vulcan Nerve Pinch."

The door opened again and several more people stepped in, followed shortly by another small group.

"Er...we told the group that they could meet here," Harry began. "Dobby told us that there was a Room of Requirement here which we could use..."

"You're looking at it," Kirk said cheerfully.

"We can always use an empty classroom," Hermione said quickly, already leading the others out.

Kirk stepped in front of them. "Since you're all already here and the room is big enough, how about you practice here from now on?"

"I'm not sure that would be a good idea..."

Kirk grinned at Hermione. "We're all trained in physical combat, Harry's trained in magical combat. Together, we can teach you how to fight."

"And we already know about the group," McCoy added, "so you won't be risking its secrecy."

"That's true..." Hermione considered.

"Is that a yes?" Kirk asked.

"I suppose so."

"Great! Is everyone here?"

"I think so," Harry replied, glancing around the room even as Hermione took out the sheet and started counting.

"Everyone's here," she affirmed after a few moments.

"Let's get started then," Kirk said, drawing over a cushion and sitting on the floor. Everyone else followed him until the three Gryffindors were at the front of the room, standing up. "We'll lead the physical combat sessions," he added at seeing their confused expressions, "but this is indoctrination."

Harry cleared his throat and glanced around the room nervously. "Well, I've been thinking about the stuff we ought to do first and – er-" Hermione had raised her hand. "What, Hermione?"

"I think we ought to elect a leader."

"Harry's leader."

"Yes," Hermione continued regardless, "but I think we ought to vote on it properly. It makes it more formal and gives him authority. So – everyone who thinks Harry ought to be our leader?"

Everyone raised their hands, though some looked as though they would prefer not to.

"Er – right, thanks. And – _what_ Hermione?"

"I also think we ought to have a name. It would promote a feeling of team spirit and unity, don't you think?"

Angelina looked hopeful. "Can we be the Anti-Umbridge League?"

"I'd vote for that," McCoy added.

"Or the Ministry of Magic are Morons Group?" Fred asked.

"...Maybe not that," McCoy whispered to Kirk.

"I was thinking," Hermione continued, "more of a name that didn't tell everyone what we were up to, so we can refer to it safely outside meetings."

"The Defence Association? The DA for short, so no one knows what we're talking about?"

There were several murmurs of agreement.

"Yeah, the DA's good," Ginny put in, "Only let's make it stand for Dumbledore's Army, because that's the Ministry's worst fear, isn't it?"

"Now _that_," Kirk said appreciatively, "is irony."

"All in favour of the DA?" Asked Hermione, although technically Harry was in charge. Everyone put up their hands. "That's a majority – motion passed."

Spock raised an eyebrow. "Have you considered entering the legal profession?"

"I haven't actually," Hermione replied in surprise.

"You'd be good at it," Ron added. "You can argue till the cows come home."

"Only when I'm against someone who lets me, Ron," she replied. "You three had better sign this now that you're officially members," she added, handing the parchment of signatures to the three officers.

"Wait," someone said, "he's a Slytherin. He'll just go running off to tell Umbridge."

"You saw how he defended us against her in the first lesson," Hermione said reasonably. "Besides, I've charmed the paper. Once he signs, we'll know if he tells anyone." No one else protested after that, though many still looked doubtful.

She passed it to Kirk, who then passed it to McCoy, who passed it to Spock, who took forever writing down his name.

"What are you doing," McCoy asked, "writing a note?"

"I am writing my name, Doctor."

"Really?" Kirk asked, "Let me see." Spock finished writing and handed over the paper to Kirk. "That's one long name," he whistled.

McCoy snatched the paper from him. "How do you pronounce that?" He asked, even turning the paper upside down in an attempt to make more sense of it.

"The simpler version is pronounced 'S'chn T'gai Spock'," he answered.

"Shin T-kay Spock," McCoy copied.

"Negative."

"Congratulations Bones, you just butchered our First Officer's name."

"Well then...what's the longer version?"

"Considering the fact that you cannot pronounce the simple version, I do not believe it would be wise to tell you." He handed the parchment back to Hermione, who placed it on the wall and scrawled the name of the group on top of it.

"Right," Harry said, quickly regaining control of the situation, "shall we get practising then? I was thinking, the first thing we should do is _Expelliarmus_, you know, the Disarming Charm. I know it's pretty basic, but I've found it really useful-"

"Oh _please_," Zacharias Smith moaned, rolling his eyes, "I don't think _Expelliarmus_ is exactly going to help us against You-Know-Who, do you?"

"Perhaps," McCoy growled, "you should just listen to him since he obviously has much more experience than you do."

Smith opened his mouth to argue, but Harry cut off all protests. "I've used it against him, and it saved my life in June. But if you think it's beneath you, you can leave."

No one moved.

"Ok, I reckon we should all divide into pairs and practice. Er...you three should probably just stand to the side."

"Fine by us," Kirk said, sauntering over to a corner, dragging over a bean bag and sitting on it. "Though I wish we could do magic," he murmured once practice had begun and they were left to watching the groups.

"As do I. It might prove significantly useful."

"Of course, Bones will think we're nuts," Kirk quipped, digging his other friend in his side.

"I do," McCoy replied dutifully, "but I also think that you have a point. If we ever got caught by the Death Eaters, we'd be dead."

"That is not the only outcome, Doctor."

"Right, of course. I forgot to mention 'severely mutilated'," McCoy drawled.

"We'll find a way to defend ourselves," Kirk assured him.

"How? We haven't even been able to do subconscious magic, which apparently we should."

"Professor Snape stated that it is a possibility," Spock said, "however, until we find ourselves under duress or other such pressing circumstances, we cannot know for certain."

"I'll just remember that when we're 'under duress' then," McCoy muttered.

"You as a Doctor should know that danger causes the body to do extraordinary actions which would under any other circumstances prove impossible. The adrenalin combined with the survival instinct could in fact lead us to perform magic, although we may have no conscious awareness of it."

"I hope you're right," McCoy said doubtfully.

An eyebrow rose. "I usually am."

Kirk laughed at that. "Vulcan humility never ceases to amaze me."

"Once again Jim, stop stealing my lines. I have enough trouble in this universe without you stealing my identity along with my hypos."

"I did nothing to your hypos," he said innocently.

"Your reputation precedes you."

"Doctor, you are being highly-"

"Illogical," McCoy finished with a slight grin, despite his gruff tone. "Come up with some new insults for me. Consider that homework."

"You wish me to do so at this moment?"

"Why not? We might as well keep talking while we're watching them."

"Idiot."

"You need to work a bit harder, Spock," McCoy instructed, a grin now plastered across his face. "I'm not feeling the emotional sting."

"Doctor, this is hardly appropriate-"

"I can make your life a living hypo hell when we get back to the Enterprise," McCoy warned as evilly as he could but failing dramatically, much to Kirk's amusement.

"Very well. I would certainly not wish to suffer from the hypo mania which you seem to enjoy cultivating."

"Still not feeling it."

Kirk, in the background, was snorting to an actual rhythm in his desperate attempts not to laugh.

"You are an over-emotional, over-bearing psychopathic hypo wielder who bears an uncanny resemblance to Sweeny Todd, to the extent that, should I not be more versed in your heritage, I would suspect you of being a descendant."

McCoy gaped at him. "Better..." he coughed, "but try to make it sound a little less...Vulcanised."

"That is my only possible speech pattern."

"Really?" Kirk chuckled, his face turning decidedly red from lack of oxygen. "You've never said anything with bad grammar?"

"I abhor such an action," Spock replied seriously.

"Say 'what in Sam Hill do you think you're doing'," McCoy requested.

"Who is Sam Hill?"

"Never mind _that_," McCoy snapped, "just say it!"

"I see no reason to repeat a statement which I do not comprehend."

"Pretend you're acting."

"Doctor, acting is equally illogical."

"You're insufferable," McCoy finally grumbled. "One of these days," he warned, "I will get you to say it!"

"I highly doubt that you would achieve that goal, Doctor."

"Do you doubt 'highly' enough to bet on it?"

A raised eyebrow was his only answer.

"Come on Spock," Kirk encouraged, "for me?" He batted his eyelashes ridiculously to many snorts from McCoy and another raised eyebrow from Spock.

"That never has worked and never will, Jim."

"Think of it as a study in human customs," Kirk said, ignoring McCoy completely.

"I have already had the opportunity to carry out such studies."

"But did you ever participate in any?"

"Negative."

McCoy, who could see where this was going, stayed quiet, struggling to keep a grin off his face, even as Kirk grew serious. "Then think of it as a further opportunity to study us. You can't get complete data unless you field test it."

Spock seemed to mull this over for a moment. "...Very well."

"I'll act as witness," Kirk said immediately, allowing the wide smile to stretch his features, "now that Spock has seen things logically..."

"Right," McCoy said, trying not to laugh, "Spock, I bet that one day I will get you to say that phrase."

"Which phrase was that Bones?" Kirk asked, latching on immediately to what McCoy was planning.

"I have no idea, maybe Spock remembers."

"The phrase was "what in Sam Hill are you doing"," Spock deadpanned, his eyes twinkling.

"That was easy," McCoy crowed. "I win the bet!"

"You did not."

"What do you mean?" McCoy sputtered. "You just said it."

"I had not yet committed myself to the bet, and we had not yet formulated an appropriate time period within which you are to attempt to force me to repeat the phrase. Therefore, the bet is not yet valid."

"Damn it!"

"He's got you there, Bones."

"Alright," McCoy sputtered, "let's set up the damn 'parameters' then."

"Personally," Kirk butted in, "I think that you should only try to get him to say it while we're here. In this universe," he clarified.

"We may remain here for an undetermined period of time," Spock pointed out.

"Or forever," McCoy added.

"Doctor, as physical beings it is impossible for us to live forever."

"Never mind."

"Think of it as an incentive," Kirk interrupted, "to get back. If, by the time we have returned to the Enterprise, Spock has not said the phrase, Spock wins the bet. If he has said it, then Bones wins."

"And if we never get back?" McCoy asked.

"Then we'll probably have forgotten about the bet since we'd be old and grey," Kirk said cheerfully. "Any more questions? Right, seal it in blood."

"Blood?" McCoy squawked. "Jim, have you completely lost your mind?"

"Of course, but I was just joking about the blood," Kirk shot back. "Well, let's classify the bet as sealed, shall we, and effective immediately?"

"Right. I forgot," McCoy said impishly, "Spock, what was it on again?"

Spock stared at him. "You have already attempted that tactic, Doctor. Surely even you cannot have such a short term memory."

"I did it!" Neville suddenly bellowed. "I disarmed Harry!"

Everyone gaped at him, until Kirk grinned and encouraged a short round of applause, to which Neville blushed considerably. He grinned back at them, obviously heartened by his success.

"Harry was not focusing on-"

McCoy promptly stamped on his foot, causing a sharp intake of breath but otherwise no sound.

"Did you have sufficient reason for attacking my foot?"

"Let him have his moment."

"Surely he deserves to know the truth," Spock pointed out.

McCoy turned to glare at him. "You may not understand this, Spock, but Neville has practically no confidence when it comes to anything other than Herbology. If letting him think he did this fair and square will boost his confidence, then we'll let him believe it happened," he said quietly. "A boost in confidence is what he needs."

"I do not understand," Spock said. "He may discover the truth and-"

"No he won't," McCoy growled, "because we won't tell him. He _needs_ this Spock. If you don't understand what I'm trying to tell you then at least listen to my judgement as a trained psychologist."

"Very well."

The conversation promptly lagged as a girl's hair caught fire and Kirk immediately bounded out of his seat, running instinctively towards the commotion.

"Uh oh," McCoy muttered, obviously having recognised some danger in letting Kirk go leaping across the room like a sprinting Gazelle.

"Doctor?"

"There's no way we can stop him..." McCoy muttered hopelessly, having half risen off of his cushion.

Spock stared before his eyes widened in understanding. "...I see. It appears that we may have some indignation to deal with momentarily..."

Meanwhile Kirk, who had reached the girl, had thrown a blanket over her head. "Get down on the floor," he instructed.

"What in Merlin's name are you _doing_?" The muffled voice screamed.

"We need a glass of water," Kirk told the room at large. "Batting out the fire would be too painful..."

"Oh _lord_," McCoy moaned as a pitcher of water appeared in Kirk's hands and he promptly poured it over both the girl and the blanket.

Kirk bowed and lifted the sodden blanket off of an equally sodden head, which was scowling at him. "And hey presto the fire is gone!" He announced to a room of stunned teenagers.

"What the hell do you think you were doing?" The girl screeched, jabbing her finger into his chest angrily and with enough force to leave a bruise.

"You're welcome," Kirk said uncertainly.

"You idiot!" The girl screamed. "I could have drowned!"

"She's overreacting a bit more than I thought she would," McCoy murmured.

"Perhaps she is a relation, Doctor?" Spock asked innocently.

"Shut up."

"Your hair was on fire," Kirk said reasonably, obviously beginning to understand why she was upset. "I was the first on the scene and I can't do magic, so I had to compromise."

"You could have waited for someone who _could_ do magic to put out the fire!" She bellowed. "Like _me_, for instance! I'm the closest one to it!"

"She has a point," McCoy muttered.

"And risk your hair getting burnt off?" Kirk demanded. "Would you have preferred to be bald?"

"I was getting to it."

"Well there's no point arguing about it now," Hermione interrupted. "The fire is out."

"I'm _wet_!" The girl screeched.

"It's not the apocalypse," Kirk sighed, having finally lost his patience with her. "You can just use a charm to dry yourself, can't you?"

The girl opened her mouth to argue, then shut it again, glaring at him.

"You're welcome," Kirk said again, retreating to his two fellow officers, the occupants of the room staring at him all the way.

"You handled that well," McCoy snorted sarcastically as Kirk sat down beside him.

"Well that was pretty good," Harry called out after a few more moments of general chatter and practice. "But I think we've overrun, we'd better leave it here. Same time, same place next week?"

"Sooner!"

"The Quidditch season's about to start," Angelina said, "we need team practices too!"

McCoy grunted something foul under his breath about death defying sports.

"Let's say next Wednesday night then," Harry concluded, "we can decide on additional meetings then." He turned to the Star Fleet officers, who had risen to see the group off. "Shall we alternate between magic and non armed defence?"

"Sounds good to me," Kirk agreed.

"That means next Wednesday, Jim is in charge of what we learn," Harry told everyone.

There was general nodded consent.

"Right. We'd better get going then," Harry said.

Shouting various farewells to the three Star Fleet officers, the DA crept out of the room and along the corridors, keeping a wary eye out for any sign of either Mrs Norris or Filch. Once they had all left, Kirk turned and grinned at his two companions, a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

"I think we've had a bad influence on them."

"Most definitely," Spock agreed, with the corner of his mouth arching into a small half smile, only visible to those who knew him very well.

"Don't tell me you're proud," McCoy dug at the Vulcan, though there was a grin as wide as the Grand Canyon spread across his face.

Spock nodded. "Although pride is a human emotion, I do admit to some satisfaction at the knowledge that they are sufficiently motivated to educate themselves."

Kirk chuckled and walked over to his First Officer, giving him a brief slap on the shoulder before walking past to the shower room. "I think we'll make a human out of you yet, Mister Spock!" He threw over his shoulder.

"I hope not."

McCoy immediately dissolved into laughter and bent over his bag in a hurried effort to hide it, even as the sound of Kirk's unstoppable hysterics floated towards them, audible even over the pounding of the water in the shower.

The next day brought a smug feeling for many of the members of the DA, who enjoyed walking around the school with the knowledge that they were doing something which was strictly illegal. And no one knew about it. For some, this was a source of ultimate amusement, to the point that some struggled not to break out into grins whenever they came into contact with Umbridge. A few even resorted to snorting over their cornflakes at breakfast in order to hide their laughter when they saw her at the teachers' table.

It was therefore with a slight look of confusion that Umbridge entered their Defence Against the Dark Arts class that day, obviously knowing that she was the source of some ridicule – more than usual – and not knowing why. It was enough to make anyone edgy, which of course only increased the students' amusement.

"Wands away and quills out, please." No one moved, no one having been hopeful enough to take out their wands. "Now," Umbridge continued, "who can tell me the difference between an Unforgivable curse and clean magic?"

Everyone gaped at her.

"No one?" She simpered.

McCoy thrust his hand into the air, but didn't wait until she'd picked on him before he spoke. Kirk shot him a warning look, but he didn't notice. "We did this yesterday."

"Mister McCoy, I have told you before. _I _am the teacher in this room. If I decide to review the categories of curses, then we shall do so."

"Don't you think you've been spending a bit too much time on it?" McCoy questioned.

"Mister McCoy, you are being insolent," she simpered. "We want to correct mistakes like that, don't we class?" No one answered, except for a few Slytherins. "It seems that you have disrupted my classroom, Mister McCoy, once again."

"I hardly ever-"

"Bones," Kirk interrupted, glaring at McCoy. "You've had three warnings this week, remember?"

"That's because she won't damn listen to me! We've been doing the same thing for a week – basic knowledge that we already _knew_ by implication."

"Doctor you are being hypocritical and foolish," Spock murmured.

"I know I told you not to get detention," McCoy murmured back, "but this is ridiculous! How can I stand by and just _let_ this happen?"

Umbridge had raised her eyebrows at them. "Talking out of turn, gentlemen? This is a frequent occurrence for you three, isn't it?" She asked, grinning victoriously. "Detention. I'm sure Mr Spock will be able to tell you the usual time." With one last sickly sweet smile, she went back to her lesson.

"That, Doctor, was unnecessary."

"They're just sitting here looking gormless!" McCoy whisper-screeched, something which both Spock and Kirk were sure they had never before witnessed, let alone knew was possible. "Look at them!"

"Is it not the customary expression for a student?" Spock asked.

"Of course it is, which is why I'm worried!"

"Bones, you're not exactly making any sense."

"Before they at least looked outraged or indignant at being treated like two year olds," McCoy explained, "now they look like _this_." He waved his arm around to encompass the entire room. "It's not good for them."

"Maybe they've just accepted their situation," Kirk suggested.

"Would _you_ have accepted it?"

"No, but I wasn't exactly what you would call a normal student," Kirk said wryly. "Besides, there's the DA."

"Only for those interested or who know about it."

"I believe I agree with the Doctor."

"What?" Both Kirk and McCoy spoke simultaneously.

"I agree that her teaching methods are unsatisfactory and that the membership of the Defence group is limited. However Doctor," he continued when McCoy assumed an expression of triumph, "that does not lead to agreement on your actions. Such attempts at persuasion are futile."

"I'm glad you finally agree with me Spock," Kirk muttered with a pointed look at McCoy, who scowled.

Umbridge was suddenly in front of them. "I've already given you a detention, gentlemen. I can always make it more interesting if you wish," her voice was suddenly devoid of all sweetness. "In fact, I have a rather troublesome boggart which needs to be captured, if you continued to talk while I'm talking."

"A boggart can only be removed successfully and quickly using magic," Kirk pointed out.

"Then perhaps you should concentrate on my class?" She asked rhetorically, giving a quick smile before attempting to swagger back to the front of the class, her hair bouncing sickeningly as she went.

"She just loves to hear her own voice," McCoy grunted.

Kirk and Spock simultaneously shot him looks which clearly said 'shut up'. He reluctantly fell quiet, even writing down what Umbridge was saying in order to avoid further punishment.

oOo

"Your level of unbelievable laziness remains uncannily unique to this day, Pettigrew," Snape snarled, thoroughly fed up by now after several minutes of trying to explain to Pettigrew exactly why it was important to follow instructions and not just guess blindly.

He had arrived at Death Eater headquarters late that afternoon after an urgent summons from one of his subordinate potion brewers, requesting that he help to clear up a mess which they had made. Of course, his first reaction had been to demand that they clean it up themselves, and waited for a few hours, half expecting another urgent message.

Sure enough, he received one two hours later, telling him that his subordinate had enlisted the help of Peter Pettigrew. Both of them had actually been incompetent enough to worsen the mess, and now he was definitely needed to help clear it up, being one of the only people authorised to go into the labs with the right knowledge for the job. And he was not pleased, to say the least.

Not only had he been forced to creep away from Hogwarts grounds and into the Forbidden Forest in full daylight, but he had also been forced to neglect marking the homework that he had collected that day, and could not foresee a time when he _would_ be able to mark it, since he had yet to prepare the ingredients for the next few classes. To make matters worse, he had arrived on the scene to discover that the culprit for the original mistake had fled and actually tried to _hide_ somewhere for fear of punishment, leaving Pettigrew standing in the middle of a very much destroyed lab, splintered wand in his hand and clueless expression on his face.

The man had not even had the foresight to get out of his way once he had arrived, or he would not be experiencing Snape's wrath right now. While the original culprit's actions had been cowardly, they had a certain merit to them. Although if the Dark Lord was here, there was no way that he would be left unpunished for running away. As it was, Snape had no inclination to waste even more time hunting down the idiot, and was quite happy to let someone else do it. He just hoped that at least some of the search team were competent.

Pettigrew cowered from the insult, his hands wringing themselves together with almost enough ferocity to squeeze out every drop of moisture from them. "I..."

"Do not make excuses, Pettigrew," Snape snapped. "Your inaptitude has always astounded me, but even I never expected anything on _this_ scale."

"Hick-"

"Was an idiot to ask you to help," he interrupted. "Thanks to his moronic behaviour, I now have to deal with two disasters on a school day. If he had just brewed the potion properly, this whole mess would have been avoided."

Pettigrew simply stood there, biting his lip and wringing his hands, his face pale.

"You are no use to me here, Pettigrew, with your wand sliced in two. Get out of my sight."

Pettigrew scurried away, practically squeaking in his anxiety to get out of the room before Snape changed his mind and decided to punish him. What he didn't know, Snape thought grimly, was that the Potions Master detested the physical punishment which the Dark Lord encouraged and even occasionally demanded, and preferred to find any excuse to avoid it, if possible, by giving other challenging punishments. Such as scrubbing every single cauldron in the place with a toothbrush, magic forbidden. However, it would do no good to tell the Death Eaters that, of course.

Sighing, he got to work on chanting the spells required to clean up the disaster area. Burnt objects gradually resumed their previous appearance, noxious fumes swirled around visibly and formed several patterns before disappearing completely, leaving the air clear once more. Furniture righted itself and flew back to the appropriate places, perfectly co-ordinated. As he worked, Snape allowed himself to curse whoever was responsible for failing to teach the bumbling fools of Death Eaters under his command how to clean up their own messes before they were subordinated to him. It meant that he constantly had to teach them how to perform the spells which, given the questionable intelligence of some, could occasionally take weeks. It amazed him how some of these people had even gained their qualifications at all.

Finishing up, he stalked out of the room and checked on the progress of the research team on his way out, noting with satisfaction that he didn't dare show that the Death Eaters had gotten no closer to finding the counter spell. He knew with certainty that Dumbledore had already discovered at least one fifth of the spell necessary, while the Death Eaters had not even reached the first letter. It was shocking, really, considering they had been the ones who had helped Lucius Malfoy to develop it. Clearly, none of them ever paid attention to what they were actually doing.

As long as the Death Eaters remained behind in their research and he maintained the facade of irritation at them, the mission was going well. They had decided long ago that it would be advantageous to them to control, as much as possible, where the Dark Lord reappeared. That way, they at least had a chance at trying to ready themselves to defeat him while he was caught unawares, although privately Snape had his doubts about that strategy. The Dark Lord was a very capable and slippery wizard; he had certainly gotten himself out of many situations which should have lead to his imminent death. Dumbledore knew this too, of course, but as always the older wizard had remained eternally cheerful about the whole prospect – probably in part in order to keep up the morale of their own researchers.

Taking his leave of the guards around the headquarters, he walked until he was swallowed in the shadows of the surrounding area, finally apparating when he was sure that it was safe. He did not want anyone to follow him.

One uncomfortable and breathtaking journey later, and he reappeared in the Forbidden Forest, grateful that for once he had not had time to put on his Death Eater robes before apparating, although he had had the foresight to bring his mask. His mask was easy enough to hide, once it was transfigured and placed into a secret pocket in his teaching robes, leaving him ready to begin the journey back to school.

He slipped up a secret entrance way and through a heavy but well oiled door which led straight to the dungeons, allowing him the freedom to sneak away without being noticed if the Dark Lord happened to call him. He shut it quietly behind him and walked brusquely back to his rooms, thankfully reaching them without anyone noticing him or being able to question his sudden appearance.

With a sigh he closed the familiar door and allowed himself to fully relax for the first time in several days, pushing the stresses of spying to the back of his mind for a few precious moments as he crossed the bare yet comfortable room to his closet, placing his transfigured mask in the secret compartment along with his cloak and other necessities.

He had just settled into a chair to finally begin the long and monotonous task of marking the stack of papers beside him, when a knock sounded at the door and he rose to answer it with a weary and irritable sigh.

"Yes?" He snapped, glaring at the stout woman stood opposite him.

"I was wondering if you could come with me, Professor?" Umbridge asked politely, almost as though telling off a naughty child instead of simply talking to a colleague.

"I have marking to do," he said dismissively, moving to shut the door.

She stuck her foot in the way. "Professor," she began again, meeting his scowl evenly, "could we perhaps talk somewhere less..." she tittered and his skin promptly crawled, "damp and murky?"

"Where did you have in mind?" He drawled; his voice dangerously quiet.

"My office?"

Clearly, everyone was conspiring against him to stop him from getting anything done. "Is it urgent?"

"I would not come to you if it wasn't, Professor," she said sweetly.

"Very well," he said sharply, closing the door behind him and walking up to Umbridge's office.

He had to resist the very strong urge to gag as he laid eyes on all of the moving and meowing kittens placed haphazardly around the room. The place looked like the den of a six year old girl with a kitten fetish (some of them were in fact, to Snape's intense surprise and disgust, pink), not that of a grown woman who was supposed to be a teacher.

Umbridge entered the room and smiled toadishly at the glaring Potions Master before her, then pointed at a disgustingly pink cupboard. From the looks of it, pink was not exactly a colour that it favoured.

"Yes?" Snape asked testily. "I do not have a limitless supply of time. Perhaps you should simply tell me what the emergency is?" His lip curled. "Unless, of course, you enjoy playing charades."

She seemed, for the most part, unaffected by Snape's scathing tone. Although, Snape noticed with particularly vindictive satisfaction, she appeared to become slightly more flustered. "I would like, if you are not too busy," she simpered, "for you to remove a rather difficult boggart, Professor."

"I can't think of a more enjoyable or productive use of my time," he snarled, his normally dour mood having been understandably worsened by the trials of the day so far. "Though this does not appear to be urgent."

"I wouldn't expect you to understand such matters," she said softly, looking him up and down quickly. "You hardly seem like the type of man prone to spring cleaning."

He resisted the very persuasive urge to hex her on the spot and instead forced his voice to remain as civil as he was prepared to keep it when dealing with this woman. "I would have thought," Snape drawled, as he approached the ominously pink abomination of a cupboard before him, "that as Professor for Defence Against the Dark Arts, you would not require my help." He smirked.

"I do not approve of such flagrant misuse of my abilities," she replied, suddenly making him wonder just how competent those abilities were, "my job is, after all, to teach, not to clean."

"How appropriate," he muttered under his breath. He could hardly expect a more comprehensive display of incompetence and unwillingness to work from anyone else. Except perhaps Potter. That boy was insufferably dense...

"When you're ready," Umbridge said pointedly, dropping gracelessly into the chair behind her desk.

"Is an audience really necessary?" He snapped.

"I have heard many tales of your magical abilities," she said calmly, but her eyes were cold and hard. "I merely wish to see if they are true."

He scrutinised the woman before him, noticing that one of her hands appeared to be itching to draw her own wand. He resisted the urge to snort. Obviously, his reputation as a Death Eater had made quite an impression, even if she foolishly did not believe in the return of the Dark Lord.

"I see," he said finally, turning his attention back to the cupboard. "Where do you want me to put it when I have capture it?"

"In there," she pointed at a crate, "for later examination at the Ministry."

With an almost lazy flick of his wand, Snape opened the door of the cupboard before him. Inwardly however, he was braced for cold, red eyes – the gaze which ripped apart his soul every time he was forced to meet it. He half expected even to hear a high voice, commanding him to kneel, to kill without a thought, without conscience. He dreaded that long, slim wand as it would raise to point at his chest, lips forming the words which would end his life in a sudden green flash.

What he did not expect was for his doppelganger to step forwards, shoulders taught with unseen burden, eyes aged beyond his years. He did not expect the profound look of sorrow mixed with self hatred, the weary surrender evident in every fibre of the creature's being. The blood that stained this creature's mind, the pain that laced its movements.

The inexplicable agony at the knowledge of what he could have been – should have been – if he had not been forced to become what he was now. The lingering sense of death, of betrayal.

A heart split in two by its own hand.

All he could do was stand there, shaking wand raised, heart clenching tighter with every step that the creature took towards him. Suddenly, it was before him, a hair's breadth away. He could feel its breath on his face, see into its very soul.

His own soul.

The eyes were filled with blame, resentment. They stared right through him, cut him, tore at him.

Numbly, he steadied his wand and muttered a spell which he could not hear, sending the doppelganger into a crate, locking it from sight.

"Well," a sugary voice exclaimed, reminding him with a jolt that Umbridge was still in the room, "that was interesting."

He didn't say anything, but managed to force his eyes away from the now locked crate, forced his posture to remain proud and dignified. Forced his face to remain expressionless and his eyes neutral.

Umbridge turned to the door and he realised with a shock that the three Star Fleet officers had just seen everything. "Come in," she simpered, as though the situation with the boggart had not just happened. "Sit down at a separate desk each, please. There will be no need to talk." She turned back to Snape. "Another detention," she explained.

"I see," was all he could think of to say. He was happy to hear that his voice was its usual tone.

"Thank you Professor," she said. "I'm sure that the Ministry will be very keen to study that boggart." She dismissed him with a turn of her head, already giving instructions to the three officers.

Taking advantage of her distraction, he slipped out of the classroom, his mind in turmoil as he all but fled to the dungeons and the comforting escape of his marking.


	21. Boggarts and Martial Arts

**21. Boggarts and Martial Arts. **

"Well," Kirk muttered as they made their way back to the Room of Requirement, "I can see why she uses that quill." He made a face in agreement with McCoy's inarticulate snort of protest. "It's not right and nothing will ever convince me otherwise, but it's definitely an incentive." He looked towards Spock, who was walking calmly beside him. "I don't know how you kept quiet about this."

"It is not in my nature to give way to superfluous complaint, Captain," he said, giving McCoy a meaningful glance. McCoy's mouth twitched into something between a scowl and a smile.

"Jim," Kirk corrected. "Call me Jim."

"For what purpose, Captain?"

"Spock, are you honestly going to keep calling me 'captain' even if we stay here forever?"

"That would be illogical as you would no longer be captain."

"Exactly," Kirk said. "Therefore I put it to you Mister Spock," he said with a grin, "that since our return to our own universe is uncertain, you should not be calling me by my title, but by my given name."

Spock's eyes twinkled as he mulled it over. "Very well...Jim. I believe this shall take some adjustment, however."

"Glad to know we understand each other, Spock."

"What about me?" McCoy asked irritably.

"We already understand each other, Bones," Kirk teased.

McCoy rolled his eyes. "You know what I meant."

"Doctor?" Spock asked, looking from one to the other in confusion.

"Don't you 'Doctor' me, you pointy eared computerised elf! I have a name!"

"That is evident, McCoy."

McCoy scowled. "Stop teasing me damn it and use the first one! Out of all the Vulcans we could have been landed with," he carried on muttering even as Kirk grinned and Spock's eyes twinkled, "we had to get a _joking_ one."

Spock's mouth twitched treacherously. "For what purpose should I use your first name?" He asked innocently. "You are a Doctor in this universe as your medical skill is unaffected by our transference."

"What about my license?" McCoy challenged. "I won't be a legitimate doctor without one."

"That would hardly stop you in an emergency, Doctor. In any case, it is possible obtain a new one," Spock said, a hint of amusement lying under the logic as he watched McCoy gradually turn an interesting shade of puce.

Kirk chuckled. "Alright Spock, I think Bones has had enough."

Spock inclined his head. "I apologise...Leonard," he said deliberately, but without a hint of apology in his voice.

"You're insufferable," McCoy sighed in vaguely exasperated affection as they stepped through the door to their living quarters.

Through their window they could see that the sun had long ago set, leaving a strewn pattern of glittering pin pricks of light in the sky, the moon silently joining them in their vigil over the now sleeping Earth. The clock on the wall counted down the seconds to ten o'clock, and they felt the complete and utter stillness of a castle filled with sleeping students.

McCoy sank onto his bed, staring at the back of his hand. "Three hours," he muttered. "We were there for three hours."

"Then we'll just have to make sure it never happens again," Kirk said as he shut the door behind them and came further into the room.

There were a few beats of silence before Kirk spoke again, voicing the thought that they had all been waiting to discuss. "I wonder why Umbridge called Snape to her office."

"I presume that she wished for him to remove the boggart," Spock replied.

"She's a teacher of Defence," Kirk pointed out. "She should know how to do it herself."

"This is _Umbridge_ we're talking about," McCoy said wryly. "She probably thinks she's above it."

"Maybe she had another motive."

Spock glanced at Kirk thoughtfully. "You believe that she used the existence of the boggart as a pretence?"

Kirk nodded. "She doesn't seem to like Snape-"

"No one seems to," McCoy muttered, although for once there was no venom in his voice regarding the Potions Master.

"-and it would be just like her," Kirk continued, "to try to humiliate him in some way."

"I think it was more than humiliation. Did you see the expression on her face when we walked in? It was triumphant. I think she was doing a little digging."

"A boggart assumes the appearance of one's worst fear," Spock added.

"And Umbridge is reasoning that everyone's worst fear should be Voldemort," McCoy continued, "since he has returned. He should be the worst fear of any professor at this school, since he poses the most threat to both them and the students."

"But it wasn't in Snape's case," Kirk finished.

"Precisely," McCoy said. "She's going to think this means that he hasn't returned, and that is why she looked so triumphant."

"You think there's a bigger picture," Kirk concluded, his face showing understanding. "Since she specifically asked Snape."

"And it wasn't because she hates him," McCoy nodded. "I've seen the way she looks at him. She hides it well, but there is a subtle fear beneath her pompousness."

"He is intimidating."

"It's more than that Spock," McCoy said. "This is real fear, not just nervousness. Snape obviously has a reputation of some kind which Professor Dumbledore has hidden from us."

"I always knew it would help to have a trained psychologist on board," Kirks quipped, his voice obviously an attempt at lightness, but failing dramatically.

"I have noticed," Spock began slowly, "that most of the population of the school refer to Voldemort as variations of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named."

"Dumbledore and Harry don't," Kirk pointed out.

"That only suggests that they aren't afraid of him," McCoy said. "Dumbledore is apparently one of the greatest wizards alive, and Harry is dubbed as 'The-Boy-Who-Lived'...it makes sense for them to not show the same fear as the rest of the population. No one else – besides us because we're new here – dares to speak Voldemort's name."

"Similarly," Spock continued, "Professor Snape does not directly refer to him. However," he added at the others' blank expressions, "I have heard him refer to Voldemort as the 'Dark Lord', which is a different variation than that of the rest of the school."

"How did you hear that?" Kirk asked in surprise.

"Vulcan hearing does have its uses, Jim."

"So what Bat Ears is saying," McCoy said seriously, ignoring Kirk's slight grin and Spock's raised eyebrow, "is that Snape thinks of Voldemort in a different way and therefore gives him a different name."

There was a pregnant pause.

"You think he's a Death Eater?" Kirk asked warily.

"There is no other viewpoint for him to adopt regarding Voldemort."

"It would definitely explain why he always wears long sleeves," McCoy muttered.

"So if Snape is at least rumoured to be a Death Eater," Kirk said, "this would cause Umbridge to be as scared of him as Bones suggests. I'd imagine he'd have quite a reputation..."

Spock nodded. "It is possible."

"Once again we're back to the boggart and her reasons behind it," Kirk said.

"It definitely explains the fear priority theory," McCoy replied. "A follower of Voldemort would understandably be terrified as well as loyal to him."

"Who knew Umbridge could play the detective," Kirk muttered in slight amusement.

"She has not been sufficiently discreet. Professor Snape has surely been alerted to the fact that she is investigating him."

"Which brings me to another point," Kirk said. "The Ministry should have at least taken him in for questioning. From what I hear, the arrest of a suspected Death Eater happens at the drop of a hat in some cases, and they haven't laid a finger on Snape."

"Obviously he has protection."

"Do you think it's from Dumbledore?" McCoy asked.

"Professor Dumbledore is an extremely well respected wizard. It would be logical to assume that he therefore has considerable influence in politics."

"So, clearly Dumbledore knows that Snape is suspected of being – and may even be – a Death Eater," Kirk said, "yet he still trusts him. Maybe because he finds him useful, besides for teaching."

"Are you saying he's a spy?" McCoy asked sceptically.

"He could be," Kirk countered. "Either that, or his status as a Death Eater is only rumoured."

"A logical deduction."

"If he was a spy," McCoy said flatly, "then Voldemort would surely have worked it out. He must know that Snape is at Hogwarts, if Snape's a Death Eater, that is."

"Obviously Voldemort trusts him also," Spock said. "Perhaps Professor Snape has given him reason to do so by-"

"Telling him he'd spy on Dumbledore," Kirk finished.

Spock nodded. "Affirmative."

McCoy threw his hands into the air. "This is getting ridiculous."

"It is necessary to consider the possibilities," Spock told him.

"We don't even know if he _is_ a Death Eater," McCoy pointed out. "We could be over-analysing."

"I don't think we are," Kirk said quietly.

"I know you're usually right Jim, but isn't this going too far? None of this is necessarily true."

The eyebrow rose. "You suggested that Professor Umbridge had a motive more important than hate," Spock pointed out.

"I could be wrong," McCoy argued.

"Leonard, I disagree with you frequently, but I believe that in this instance you are correct."

McCoy snorted.

"You have considerable talent in the field of psychology," Spock continued relentlessly. "The odds are more favourable that you are correct than those stating that you are not."

McCoy sighed and flopped backwards on his bed. "We're in over our heads."

"We're not the only ones," Kirk said darkly, causing McCoy to sit back up and stare at him. "If our suspicions about Professor Snape are right, then he could get into a lot of trouble for helping us."

"We don't know that he's on our side, _if_ and only _if_ he's a Death Eater."

"We must trust Professor Dumbledore," Spock said simply. "None of his previous actions have suggested irresponsibility or poor judgement."

"Besides," Kirk said, "even if he _wasn't_ on our side, he'd still be trying to get Voldemort back, so either way he has to help us. He's no threat to us."

"What about the students?" McCoy asked simply.

"If he wished to harm the students, he could have done so," Spock pointed out. "The fact that he has not suggests that he is loyal to Professor Dumbledore."

"Especially considering his notorious feud with Harry, who is supposed to defeat Voldemort," Kirk added. "He's Harry's teacher, he could have killed him at any time if he was loyal to Voldemort, but he hasn't."

"If my observations are correct," Spock said, "human psychology would suggest that Voldemort would wish to kill Harry himself, in order to experience high levels of satisfaction."

"So that makes your argument go down the drain Jim."

"Not completely, Leonard," Spock continued. "Professor Snape has also neglected to provide Voldemort with access to Harry. He should have done so once he knew that Voldemort had regained power. He has had ample opportunity."

McCoy groaned and fell back onto the bed. "I'm getting too old for conspiracy theories."

"We certainly appear to discover them in abundance," Spock agreed.

"Until we know the truth," Kirk said finally, "we should remain alert around Professor Snape. But," he added, "all of our evidence so far leads me to believe he's on our side." He grinned wryly. "We'll just have to hope for the best."

"Very sound advice Jim," McCoy groaned.

Grinning at his CMO's typical response despite the sombreness of the situation, Kirk disappeared into the shower room, leaving the other two officers to make a start on their homework, which they were still finishing early into the morning.

The days sped quickly by after their detention with Umbridge which was, to their general relief, their last for the time being. Although Umbridge's behaviour never changed, they managed to force themselves not to respond to her malevolent insults, shrouded in sweetness and chuckles though they may be. Luckily, Harry seemed to be taking Angelina's remarks to heart and was copying their example, though they could still clearly read the anger her continued ignorance about Voldemort caused. Even those who did not completely believe in or share Dumbledore and Harry's convictions were becoming increasingly irritated with Umbridge's continued digs, if only because it was the sole topic of conversation that her lessons revolved around.

Spock had been charged with finding out the Slytherins' views on the matter as discreetly as possible, so that both Kirk and McCoy knew the full extent of opinion within the castle, should action need to be taken. It was, therefore, their topic of conversation that evening as they waited for the DA members to arrive for their first self-defence lesson from Kirk.

"The Slytherin house members also appear to possess little tolerance for Professor Umbridge," Spock reported as they all sat in chairs near the fire.

"Why don't they do something about it then?" McCoy groused.

"Perhaps you will recall the attributes of Slytherin house: cunning and ambition. They recognise the disadvantages of directly opposing her, Leonard. They have instead opted for a less brazen approach."

"In other words," McCoy said in disgust, "they're happy to just sit back and watch."

"It is eminently more pragmatic. By doing so, they have ample opportunity to make note of her weaknesses and use them to their advantage at a later date."

"I can see why they're in Slytherin," Kirk said thoughtfully.

"They're brain washing you Spock," McCoy declared out of the blue.

Spock blinked. "Why should my brain have the need to be cleansed? I assure you that my bone structure is perfectly capable at preventing undesirable compounds from gaining access to my brain."

McCoy stared at him. "Do you honestly never understand idioms, or are you just pulling my leg?"

The twinkling in Spock's eyes was answer enough.

"Well I never!" McCoy practically crowed, a grin splitting his face in two. "There's a practical joker lurking in there after all," he declared, pointing at Spock's head.

Spock raised an eyebrow. "I must admit surprise at the fact that you failed to reach such a conclusion earlier, Leonard. You were, after all, the main advocate for adopting human practices whilst we were aboard the Enterprise."

Kirk grinned. "Looks like Hikaru owes me some money."

"You were betting on this?" McCoy squawked, the sound not unlike a particularly surprised seagull.

"Of course. I know a good source of income when I see one."

"Are you telling me," McCoy sputtered, "that everyone knew the hobgoblin had a sense of humour but me, and were _betting_ on how long I'd continue to make a fool of myself by arguing with him about it?"

"Yep," Kirk said cheerfully. "You were just too busy arguing with him to notice."

"Did you know about this Spock?" McCoy demanded.

Spock looked vaguely sheepish. "I had my suspicions."

"Why didn't you _tell_ me?"

"It was an interesting source of information on the topic of human nature."

McCoy snorted. "What else do you people bet on?"

"You'd be happier not knowing," Kirk hedged.

"Spock?"

"I regret that I have no knowledge of additional bets."

McCoy narrowed his eyes at him. "Oh really?"

"Vulcans cannot lie," Spock said simply, his face set in stone.

"I'm beginning to have my doubts about that one," McCoy muttered, still scrutinising the Vulcan.

"I am being truthful, Leonard."

"So you say."

Kirk rolled his eyes at them. "If you two are finished bickering, the first members of the DA have arrived."

Sure enough, a small group of students clustered around the door, grins of amusement still there from when they were listening to the mock argument. Kirk beckoned them in, and they drew cushions across the floor to make a small audience facing the front. The three officers waited until everyone else had arrived and settled down before beginning the meeting.

"Welcome back," Kirk said in a very male version of Umbridge's voice, grinning wildly as everyone's eyes widened. "I hope you have all had a pleasant break, and are ready for the hard work to come."

"Oh _Lord_," McCoy muttered to himself, even as the crowd of students snickered openly.

"All jokes aside," Kirk continued, his voice reassuringly normal now, "I have an interesting session planned out. Before we start, does anyone know any self-defence?"

One second year raised his hand. "I've just started judo lessons," he said quietly, obviously very conscious of the eyes fixed upon him.

Kirk grinned in encouragement. "That will help you a lot, because I'm actually going to teach you a bit of judo. Unfortunately, I only know a few techniques since we had a limited syllabus at the Academy regarding Defence, but I do know a few street methods." He grinned manically even as McCoy scowled. "Spock can also teach you the safer forms of Vulcan defence when we've finished with my techniques. So, now that you know what we're doing... " He beckoned at the group at large. "Stand up," he instructed.

Everyone stood up, exchanging slightly wary and apprehensive glances as they did so, some muttering enthusiastically. They could vaguely hear Luna murmuring to her neighbour about the origins of Judo in the long lost city of Atlantis, having been passed on before the city sank. The neighbour looked vaguely confused, but politely interested.

"Before we do anything, I have to teach you how to fall correctly, so that you don't injure yourselves. As you can see, we've set out mats over there, which is where all our practise will take place," he pointed, "and where we will practice the fall which I am about to show you."

Obediently, they all trooped over to a square of mats that had been laid out by the three officers a half hour earlier, having anticipated the need for these and asked the room to provide some.

"As beginners, I will teach you the simplest type of fall first, since that's the one you'll need at the moment. Everyone watching?" They all nodded.

Kirk immediately fell to the floor, slapped the ground and then rolled back to his feet. Everyone gaped at him in slight surprise, not having been expecting that.

"Did you all catch that?" Everyone nodded, and Kirk smiled. "I have to say you're quicker than the Academy training class..." he spared a meaningful glance at McCoy, who smirked back.

It was widely known that McCoy was the reason why the class had been slow to progress, since his first attempts at any move were usually a failure, though he did not actually seem to mind the fact that it had become a long standing joke, having encouraged much of it himself through endless complaining.

"So if half the group moves off the mat so that we have space for the other half to have a go..." wordlessly, his instructions were carried out, and a worried looking group stood before Kirk, some obviously beginning to reconsider their decision to come to the room that day.

"On the count of three," Kirk said. He glanced at Spock. "Do you want to go to the back so that you can keep an eye on students further away?" He murmured quietly. Spock nodded and moved to his new position without a word, his keen eyes and expertise more than capable for the job.

"One...two...three." The air was instantly filled with the sound of people falling spectacularly and then slapping the floor, a few rounds of giggles sounding after the noise had died down. "Very well done," Kirk praised as they all stood back up. "We'll keep practising for a while longer though, and then let the other half of the group have a go."

For the next few minutes, Kirk and Spock walked around the square of students, occasionally pointing out advice for those who were practising and even demonstrating on some occasions. The group soon began to pick it up, until it was time for the second half of the group to have a go. The process was repeated, and about half an hour later the students had retreated to cushions, slightly sore from all the falling but otherwise triumphant at having picked up a new skill.

"Well you've all mastered the fall," Kirk said once the last mutterings of chatter died down, "so now we'll go onto something else. The move that I am about to demonstrate..." he glanced around.

McCoy looked like a deer in the headlights. "Not with me," he mouthed frantically, nodding his head at Spock.

Kirk grinned and for a moment McCoy was afraid that he _would_ be picked, despite his protests, but Kirk turned back around to face the students. "...with Mister Spock," an audible sigh of relief from McCoy, "is called the 'Ashi Guruma' or 'Leg Wheel'. It is very simple once it has been mastered properly, though at first it is difficult to pick up, especially if you have trouble with two left feet." There were several snickers and jokes exchanged among the audience. "If you do have trouble, Mister Spock and I will be there to help you, so there's no need to panic."

He moved back over to the mats and the students pulled their cushions closer, Spock moving to join Kirk. They silently and slowly grabbed hold of each others' clothing in the appropriate places, near shoulder height, so that the students could clearly see what they were doing.

What followed was what looked like, for the spectators who had never seen the process before, a strange type of choreographed dance, which ended up with Kirk being lightly dumped onto the floor, grinning at them. He bounced back upright energetically.

"Obviously in a real fight it won't be as smooth as that," he said wryly, "and the outcome may be different, but that is all you need to learn for now. Is there anyone who wants us to repeat the demonstration?" Nobody raised their hands. "Divide into pairs and take it in turns throwing each other as we just showed you...make sure there's enough space between groups. I think Bones would have a fit if anyone ended up in the hospital wing."

Once more, Kirk and Spock patrolled the border of the mats, occasionally stepping in and allowing a student to try and throw them, guiding them verbally if the student was doing it wrong. The result was that another half hour later everyone had mastered the technique, even though it was still performed slowly, and were looking very pleased with themselves. Throughout the entire session, McCoy had stayed out of the way, not entirely trusting himself to take part in case he caused some type of catastrophe reminiscent of his Academy days.

Finally, everyone sat in a group once more, including the three officers, discussing when their next meeting would be and accommodating it to fit the Quidditch schedule for all of the teams present. When they had finally fixed a date, the conversation moved onto more everyday topics, until finally it came around to defence once more.

"I've been meaning to ask," one student said, her eyes alight with curiosity, "what does a real judo fight look like?"

"Do you want a demonstration?"

Several people nodded enthusiastically, obviously keen to see what they would eventually be learning, and Kirk turned to regard McCoy with a teasing grin. "Any objections, Bones?"

"None that you'd listen to," McCoy groused back.

Kirk's gaze turned to Spock. "Feel like giving them a demonstration? I've been waiting to get you back for our last match for a while now."

"You will not be victorious," Spock said, deadpan.

"Is that a threat?" Kirk asked, eyebrows raised in mock indignation.

Spock simply stood up and assumed his place on the mats, his face impassive but friendly challenge lurking in its depths.

"I'll take that as a 'yes'," Kirk said affably as he too took his place on the mats, in front of Spock. He turned back to the students. "Bear in mind that most of the moves I use are actually improvised...as I explained earlier, I learnt most of my self defence through...practical demonstrations."

"Watch closely," McCoy said to the group at large. "They'll need plenty of witnesses when one kills the other..." Several people chuckled, but most waited with bated breath for the demonstration to begin.

After a few moments during which they bowed to each other, Kirk and Spock circled, testing each other's strengths and weaknesses, plans already beginning to form for the other's defeat.

Kirk was the first to move. Closing in on Spock, he grabbed the Vulcan's clothing and a brief tussle ensued which resulted in Kirk being thrown to the floor, only to quickly regain his footing. They circled for a few more moments, but this time Spock lunged using a technique similar to the one Kirk had just used.

Kirk managed not to fall, however, and soon Spock was caught in what looked like a brief headlock, only to wriggle free a few moments later and somehow force Kirk back onto the mat.

Glancing around at the assembled students, McCoy noticed with amusement that many were sitting there wide-eyed, a few whispering to each other as the demonstration became more and more a flurry of limbs as the mock battle escalated. Kirk managed to catch Spock out and throw him a few times, but for the most part the Vulcan maintained the upper hand.

When the fight finally ended and the two came back over to the group, Kirk breathing hard but Spock not having even broken out in a sweat, the students were still staring in amazement, before a few of them began a stalling round of applause. Kirk bowed in mock thanks, while Spock simply re-took his place next to McCoy in the group of cushions.

"As you can see," Kirk said wryly when he too had sat down, "I don't win much."

"For a human," Spock interjected, "you are exceptionally skilled."

"Just my luck to have an opponent several times stronger than me," Kirk replied.

"Indeed."

Hermione was one of the few that did not look enthused by the prospects of combat training open to them. "I thought you could use a neck pinch," she said shortly, looking directly at Spock.

"Every Vulcan is able to," Spock replied.

"Then why did you learn Judo and Vulcan defence?" She asked.

"In some instances, a neck pinch is not favourable," Spock said simply. "There is not always the opportunity to swiftly overcome an enemy in a peaceful fashion."

"Can you teach us the neck pinch?" Harry asked.

"He's been trying to teach me ever since I found out he could do it," Kirk said. "It never worked."

"A non-Vulcan has never had the capacity to master the skill," Spock added.

"As far as we know," Kirk finished.

"This universe might be different," Hermione pointed out. "If we have magical ability here which you don't, then maybe we can do things which are thought to be impossible for humans in your universe."

"The odds are not favourable."

"You won't know unless you try, Spock," McCoy said. "At least give it a go."

"Very well," Spock conceded. "I will need one volunteer."

"You're not going to demonstrate on them are you?" McCoy asked sceptically.

"I am merely going to demonstrate the correct hand position. I am hardly going to request that they divide into pairs and proceed to render each other unconscious," Spock said blankly. "That would be extremely impractical."

"Right," McCoy muttered, feeling slightly ridiculous.

Meanwhile, Hermione had been the only one to step forward, so Spock walked over to her. The rest of the group remained seated on the floor, staring up at them expectantly.

Spock raised his hand and placed it on her shoulder in the correct position, but did not exert any pressure. "This is the position which needs to be adopted," he said to the group at large. "For non-humans, the method of application may vary depending on the location of major nerve endings. Similarly, the amount of force needed to render the being unconscious may differ.

"The reason that many non-Vulcans are unable to perform this method is due to their lack of sensitivity in their hands," he continued. "The fingertips are utilised to propel energy from the defendant into the opponent, rendering the opponent unconscious." His mouth twitched. "Evidently, it would be impractical for me to demonstrate completely. However, once the correct positioning has been memorised, what remains is experimentation on the amount of force needed. It would be unwise for you to attempt to conduct these experiments on each other."

There were several groans as everyone digested this piece of information, though some looked thoughtfully mischievous, Fred and George Weasley being among them.

"I advise that you attempt this method only should a situation warrant it, though I can allow no guarantees that it may be successful," Spock warned.

Kirk glanced at the clock. "Since it's just before curfew, we should probably let you go. I'm sure that you all have a lot of homework to do." He grimaced. "As do we..."

There was collective eye rolling as everyone remembered long forgotten essays that had been deliberately abandoned in order for the students to attend this meeting, and groups began to shuffle out slowly, obviously reluctant to go back to the promise of work. A few could still be heard chattering as they walked down the corridors and out of sight, though mercifully everyone recognised the need to keep quiet about what they had just learned.

McCoy sighed and closed the door. "I have a feeling that we'll find a few unconscious students lying around school tomorrow..."

"We cannot be certain that the method will work, Leonard," Spock reminded him.

"No, but my Doctor sense is tingling, and when I start indirectly quoting Spider Man, it's generally a sign that something's wrong."

"I was unaware that there was a part arachnid part humanoid in existence, nor that you would have made his acquaintance, Leonard, given your distaste for arachnids."

McCoy squinted at him. "Why am I never sure if you're joking or not?"

Kirk chuckled. "Because he has such a good poker face."

"Remind me never to play poker with you, Spock."

"Very well, Leonard," Spock said neutrally, sitting down quietly at a desk and already beginning to pull out his homework.

"I never thought I'd say that..." McCoy muttered, puttering off to his own school bag and withdrawing a large and forebodingly heavy textbook on Potions.

Kirk's head thunked onto his desk. "Of all the subjects here, I have to be bad at Potions. Everything else is fine," he moaned, "but Potions is still a nightmare."

"You should ask Snape for extra lessons," McCoy said, with a remarkably straight face.

"Or I could ask Spock," Kirk replied, giving the Vulcan First Officer a hopeful look.

"When I have completed my assignment for Charms I will assist you, Captain."

"It'll take a long time," McCoy warned wickedly, ignoring the look that Kirk threw his way.

"I have already commenced my Charms assignment," Spock replied, "and completed the remainder of my homework for other subjects. I have sufficient time to allow for aiding Jim."

"Even if it takes all night," McCoy finished for him.

"Precisely."

"You two don't have any faith in me at all, do you?" Kirk asked desolately from his desk.

Spock looked up seriously from his parchment, which was covered with his precise handwriting. "Jim, your ability to command a Star Ship is outstanding; your resistance to Leonard's hypo obsession remarkable...but your Potions skills leave much to be desired."

The reply was so unexpected that both Kirk and McCoy simply stared at the deceptively impassive Vulcan for a few moments, before breaking down completely and giving into a laughter that had been suppressed by the many worries of being in a new universe. Spock, by contrast, had a vague air of triumph as he returned to his work, and they could not help but feel that their normally stoic First Officer had been planning for that comment to cheer them up.

A short while ago they would never have believed it possible, but he had succeeded.


	22. Love Me Not

**22. Love Me Not.**

**Author's Note: For those of you who don't like slash, it may be a good idea to skip this chapter altogether. There may be passing references to this scene later on in the story, but I'll warn you again when we come across more major slash scenes. **

The days and weeks seemed to merge into one another as every single student within the school, and some of the professors, struggled to keep up with the syllabus. This was made even more difficult by the fact that Umbridge was prowling around and putting a stop to anything she considered to be against Ministry guidelines, which included many revision groups that some professors had set up to help those who had fallen dramatically behind. McGonagall in particular was not happy with this.

"This is a revision group!" McGonagall had protested loudly when Umbridge had burst in on the former teaching a group of students.

Umbridge gave a delicate laugh, causing McGonagall to tighten her jaw in obvious revulsion. "I'm afraid, Professor McGonagall," she simpered sweetly, "that this group is unacceptable."

"It is not unacceptable to teach students," McGonagall pointed out reasonably, her voice becoming as hard and unrelenting as steel. "Surely not even you could make a decree against that!"

"Oh but I already have." Umbridge withdrew a piece of parchment from a bag which students were seriously beginning to consider had no inward size limit. Her toad like face, bloated by years of self righteous pride, swelled with glee as she cleared her throat once more and began to read. "Educational Decree number-"

McGonagall sniffed in obvious disdain and spoke sarcastically. "Which number are we on this time, I wonder?"

"-twenty three," Umbridge continued, unfazed, "did, if you will recall, give me the position of Hogwarts High Inquisitor. Therefore," she said smartly, "since I have decreed that any suspicious student organisation, body or group should be disbanded, this class should not exist without previously having asked my opinion on the matter."

"This is hardly suspicious!" McGonagall countered, eyes blazing furiously.

"I'm afraid that you have little say in the matter, Minerva," Umbridge said calmly.

"Professor Dumbledore will hear about this!"

Umbridge assumed a politely incredulous look. "And what, if you would be so kind as to tell me, could your dear Headmaster do? This is clearly an anti-Fudge alliance of his making-"

"'Anti-Fudge alliance'?" McGonagall repeated, incredulous. "Is this what you people at the Ministry consider intelligence? Professor Dumbledore never has – and never will – want the position of Minister. If your boss is conceited enough to believe this is not the case, then perhaps he deserves the ridicule which is going in his direction."

Umbridge looked as if she had been slapped. "How dare you-?" She seemed at a loss for words.

McGonagall looked down her nose very deliberately at Umbridge. "I am simply stating fact. It is not my fault that you choose not to see it."

Umbridge attempted to draw herself to her full height which was not, to the amusement of everyone in the room, anywhere near effective. "Since there is obviously much distaste among the Hogwarts population with regards to the Ministry, I have no choice but to deny you the opportunity to keep this class in session."

"When the government fears school children of overthrowing it, then the country is in a very sorry state indeed," McGonagall said scathingly. "Perhaps we need someone in charge who doesn't jump at every shadow of conspiracy that hides around the corner!"

Umbridge began to puff up in fury. All students had long ago abandoned feigning work and had begun watching with wide eyes or grins on their faces. "You had better watch your step, Minerva." She glanced around at everyone in the room. "Since this class is illegitimate, there is no reason for you all to be here. You may leave."

No one moved.

McGonagall seemed to have difficulty in hiding a victorious smirk. "It would seem that your _authority_ is not recognised, Dolores," she said, her mockery of Umbridge's usual tone causing the latter to puff up even more indignantly.

"The Minister will hear about this." It was extremely satisfying for everyone in the room to hear her repeating the words which McGonagall had furiously said earlier – a sure sign that the tide had changed.

"See that he does," McGonagall called after Umbridge's retreating back. "Perhaps he will put someone in charge who understands that a school is for learning, not for breeding an army." The door slammed behind the High Inquisitor.

McGonagall turned back to her students. "Now, if we don't have any more rude interruptions, maybe we can get something done."

News of this showdown between McGonagall and Umbridge spread like wildfire around the school, and Umbridge found herself to be even more of a source of mockery than before. Yet with this came a new law laid down by the Minister, and McGonagall's revision class was disbanded. Still, Umbridge may have won with the help of Fudge, but everyone remembered McGonagall's plain defiance of her and that alone helped to keep school spirit high and mostly Umbridge-influence-free.

Also helping to keep school morale high was the knowledge that the Quidditch matches would soon begin. Teams were training hard as usual, and teachers – with some notable and obvious exceptions – did their best to refrain from giving unnecessary homework in order to give their teams more time to practice. With this sudden decrease in homework also came a shockingly large increase in house points awarded, as everyone began competing to become the house in front.

It was with this attitude in mind that the Slytherins were practicing Quidditch on the snow filled Quidditch pitch, even while the Gryffindors attempted to take their turn. The result was that half of the Gryffindor team watched the Slytherins in an attempt to discern their weaknesses, whilst the other half tried to argue with Snape over whose right it was to practice. Needless to say, Snape was winning.

"Spock's getting pretty good at flying," Kirk observed, his face turned to the sky as he watched the Vulcan zoom around the pitch as he competed with Malfoy to get the golden Snitch. Kirk and McCoy were ignoring the raging argument completely, having known from the beginning what the outcome would be.

"Spock's good at every damn thing," McCoy muttered.

"Are you still upset about this whole Quidditch thing Bones?"

"Unbelievably," McCoy sighed back, but knowing that he would never win.

"...But we need time to practice!" Angelina was saying to Snape, both of whom were standing behind the two Enterprise officers.

"This time slot is booked for Slytherin," Snape said smoothly.

"But-"

"I suggest," Snape interrupted, "that you do not argue. I have already booked the pitch and intend to use it. If you have any further protests then you can voice them in detention, but you will not interrupt the team practise."

Angelina made a sound as if she wanted to argue, but then stormed away from Snape to sit on a seat near to Kirk and McCoy. They heard a rustling sound and saw Snape settle back into his own seat, a satisfied expression on his face.

Kirk rolled his eyes and turned back to the practise, but did not comment. McCoy sighed, but managed to restrain the angry tirade that he had building up in his mind, and instead settled on something more mundane.

"Damn it's cold."

"So you've said," Kirk grinned.

"The hobgoblin is going to catch Vulcan pneumonia," McCoy groused, his eyes following the Vulcan in question as he floated high above the stands, at the opposite end to Malfoy.

"He'll be alright Bones."

"He got the flu from being in _rain_," McCoy spat back. "_Rain_, Jim."

"He _is_ from a desert planet..." Kirk trailed off as the memory of what exactly had happened to said planet once again hit him.

McCoy was slightly too worried about Spock's health and incensed about the dangers of Quidditch to notice. "Exactly my point! He shouldn't be out here in the snow flying around at high altitudes!"

"You make him sound like a plane," Kirk said wryly.

"Even that death trap would be safer than – what the hell do they think they're doing?" McCoy broke off suddenly and pointed at the Gryffindors in the seats in front of them.

"Throwing snowballs," Kirk answered.

"At the _team_?"

"They're trying to sabotage them."

"I _know_ that," McCoy snapped. "But they'll cause an accident."

"What do you think you're doing?" A voice echoed at the students, who did not hear it over the sound of their own laughter.

Annoyed, Snape stomped over to them and stood there, arms crossed, sneer firmly in place. He opened his mouth once more, probably to repeat what he had just said, but he never got the chance.

Harry laughed as Ron hit him in the chest with a snowball, even as the Weasley twins aimed a couple of round, slightly wet missiles at players as they zoomed close by. Bending over to scoop up a large and generous handful of the white powder, he patted it into a shape that loosely resembled a mini cannonball and stood back up, cocking his arm back and preparing to throw.

He grinned as he saw Ron's eyes widen in surprise, and threw. Ron ducked quickly and Harry's eyes became saucer sized as he saw the snowball fly spectacularly slowly towards Snape, who had his mouth open and seemed about to speak.

Snape's eyes briefly narrowed at the flying ball of sludge as though he would like nothing better than to see it crash and burn, but there was no time for him to do anything else. There was an audible _smack_ as it landed right inside the Potions Master's mouth, which had not had enough time to close before it was attacked.

Snape's mouth bulged with snow and a murderous expression crossed his face, making him look like a particularly deranged chipmunk. Slowly, deliberately, he spat the snow out, the mess landing at his feet with a particularly ominous _splat. _

Black, beady eyes fixed on Harry with deliberate menace. "You just earned yourself two weeks of detention, Potter," he all but growled. He snapped his gaze around to glare at everyone else. "Unless you wish to suffer the same fate, I suggest that you stop the fight. Now." He turned and stalked back to his seat.

Fred sighed. "Snape is not a happy snowman..."

This started a round of furiously muffled laughter as everyone struggled not to let Snape hear that they were laughing at him, for fear of getting another detention. Fortunately, everyone managed to calm themselves down enough to avoid Snape's likely increased wrath, and returned to watching the game playing out before them.

"Spock seems reluctant to be aggressive..." Angelina murmured.

"He's a seeker," Harry reminded her unnecessarily. "You don't really have time to be aggressive."

"I meant in trying to go for the Snitch. I think he's giving Malfoy a head start."

"Malfoy does need the most practice," Kirk pointed out. "He's the main seeker."

"But if Malfoy gets replaced by Spock," Angelina murmured, "we might be able to use that to our advantage."

"Take it from someone who knows," Kirk replied wryly, "Spock can be ruthless when he puts his mind to it."

"You saw it with Umbridge and at our last meeting," McCoy added. "You do _not_ want to face Spock at Quidditch..."

"Something tells me that he was more experienced at arguing and defence," Angelina said, causing both Kirk and McCoy to grin sheepishly, "but he's new at Quidditch."

"He picks things up quickly," Kirk assured her.

"He can't be that..." She trailed off as she saw how Spock was racing Malfoy in a nail biting dive to catch the snitch.

"Exactly," Kirk and McCoy said in unison.

"Are all Vulcans like that?" Angelina asked finally.

"Definitely," Kirk replied. "We're lucky we're not facing a whole Quidditch team of Vulcans. We'd have no chance."

"And they claim to avoid sports that are illogical," McCoy snorted. "Flying on a broomstick chasing a flying ball is about as illogical as it can get."

Kirk swore and pointed. "Speaking of flying balls..." he ignored a few snickers, "there's a pretty good chance that Spock hasn't seen that one..."

Everyone's eyes turned back towards the pitch in time to see a Bludger closing in on the Vulcan in question, who was still chasing the Snitch, with Malfoy now a few centimetres behind him. A Beater was zooming frantically towards him; bat out already as though he could stop the Bludger by sheer force of will. Finally recognising the fact that he wasn't going to get there in time, the boy shouted out a warning.

Spock, whose fingers were about to close around the Snitch, looked around once he heard the panicked tone to the voice that had called, but it was too late.

The Bludger caught him full in the face, knocking him sideways off his broom and down to the ground, where he landed with an audible thump.

"Shit!" McCoy yelled, leaping out of his seat and running out onto the pitch, Kirk close behind him. Everyone else but Snape, who was also racing to the pitch, remained shocked in the stands.

In a second, he was by the unconscious Vulcan's side and checking his vitals with a practiced air. "We need to get him out the snow," he said to the forming crowd at large. "He'll freeze here."

"Stand back," Snape ordered.

"I can't leave him there damn it!" McCoy said furiously, rounding on the professor with his eyes blazing.

"I am going to levitate him," Snape said simply, "unless you have a better way of getting him to the Hospital Wing?"

McCoy immediately moved aside and watched as Snape cast a non-verbal levitating charm at the Vulcan's still body, moving him carefully through the crowd and as fast as possible towards the castle. Exchanging a brief worried glance, Kirk and McCoy followed him, ignoring the whispers that followed them through the castle as they made their way after Snape to the hospital wing.

"Goodness," Madam Pomfrey exclaimed as Snape gently settled the Vulcan onto a bed close to the door. "What happened?"

"He was hit in the face by a Bludger," Snape said shortly.

"Not to worry," Pomfrey said, bustling around in some drawers. "I have just the thing..."

"He won't be able to stomach any potions designed for humans," McCoy said gravely. "On the Enterprise, I always have to modify medicine for him..."

Pomfrey closed the drawer. "We'll have to use old fashioned methods then," she said brusquely, crossing back over the room to Spock's side. She pointed her wand at Spock's nose, which began repairing itself.

"What was the potion going to do?" McCoy asked, curious despite himself.

"Wake him up," Pomfrey replied. "Professor Snape told me that Vulcans have the ability to control their bodily functions. I had hoped that he would be able to keep his body temperature at a decent level, but we'll just have to use blankets and heating charms..."

"How-"

"Legillimency," Snape replied. "I suppose you would call it a mind meld," his lip curled slightly at the term.

"The first night," Kirk said, nodding.

"It is reassuring that someone remembers," Snape said, but was soon recruited into helping Pomfrey keep the Vulcan, who was starting to shiver, warm.

"I knew this would happen," McCoy swore.

Kirk's eyes were still fixed on Spock's prone form, and when he answered his voice was quiet. "You couldn't have known, Bones." He lifted his gaze briefly to watch Madam Pomfrey and Snape at work. "Will he be alright?"

"He'll be fine," Pomfrey assured him. "He'll have a headache for a few hours – and if I could give him potions I could fix that – but nothing serious."

"Thank God," Kirk muttered quietly, obviously under the impression that no one could hear him.

A few seconds later, Madam Pomfrey stepped back with a flourish and smiled. "There. He'll be asleep for a while now, so I suggest that you go and get some dinner."

A quick look at the clock told them that several hours had passed since they had all trooped outside in the attempt to practice Quidditch.

Kirk opened his mouth to protest, but McCoy tugged his arm. "Come on Jim, he's not going anywhere."

With one last worried look, Kirk allowed McCoy to steer him out of the room in silence. They were dragged down to the Great Hall by the flow of hungry students, the roar of voices practically making conversation impossible until they sat down at their usual places at the table.

McCoy seemed grimmer than usual, obviously waiting to say something important, but unsure on how to broach the subject, or even if he should. Finally, after watching McCoy absent-mindedly almost ladle baked beans into his cup, Kirk intervened.

"Just spit it out, Bones."

McCoy scrutinised Kirk for several seconds before obligingly lowering his fork to the table and dropping his voice so that the conversation remained private. "How long, Jim?"

"How long what?"

"I think you know." McCoy's voice was gentle.

Kirk sighed and stared at his plate for a few moments, never comfortable with having this kind of conversation. "Since shortly after Nero, I guess."

"Have you told him?"

Kirk jerked his head around to stare at the Doctor. "Are you crazy? How could I...Bones," he amended, suddenly seeming unsure of himself, "I've never felt this before. I don't know if..." he trailed off.

"You don't know if it's real," McCoy finished quietly before laying a hand on Jim's arm to get the other man to look at him. "Jim, this is real."

"Bones, you're a brilliant psychiatrist, but even you can't see into my head."

McCoy snorted softly, but his expression remained serious. "I've seen the way you look at him, and I can tell you now that I've never seen that expression on your face before."

Kirk didn't reply, but his expression spoke volumes.

"Tell me, how did you feel when he fell?"

Kirk blinked, but answered the question. "Worried, scared...afraid. All the other synonyms."

"I think you've just answered your question. This is real Jim; it's all there for you to see."

"I'd have felt the same if you were falling."

McCoy sighed. "And exactly how many times have you tickled a giant squid to see me blush?"

Kirk stared at him, mouth slightly open.

McCoy grinned. "You liked seeing him blush, didn't you?"

"Yes."

"My point exactly. You tease him, you worry for him...you slap him on the shoulder more than the whole Bridge put together...do I have to spell it out for you?"

Kirk gave him a wry smile. "It just needed something like this for me to realise it."

"You've known all along, Jim, you just didn't know what to do with it."

Kirk nodded. "I admit that I knew there was...something...but it was so different to anything I've ever felt before." He chuckled. "At first I thought I was coming down with a new disease."

McCoy rolled his eyes. "Trust you to turn something perfectly normal into a life or death scenario."

"I just...wasn't sure how to handle it. I've only ever had non-serious relationships. I'm not sure if I can handle this."

"At the risk of sounding corny..." McCoy cleared his throat in preparation. "If it's meant to be, it will be."

Kirk snorted. "Even you can do better than that Bones."

"I thought you'd appreciate that phrase more. Obviously I was wrong."

"Are you saying I should tell him?"

McCoy nodded. "That's exactly what I'm telling you." Kirk made a face and McCoy elbowed him. "Don't tell me you're scared of Spock?" he asked incredulously.

"The last time I mentioned love to him he tried to strangle me," Kirk pointed out.

"He wouldn't do that here. There are too many witnesses," McCoy teased.

"You're not helping Bones."

"Tell him," McCoy said seriously. "And do it soon damn it, before you lose your nerve or we get killed by a rampaging hippogriff."

Kirk grinned, but it was slightly forced through his nervousness. "If you're wrong, I'll have your head."

"It won't do the decor of your quarters any good to have my face on the wall." McCoy shot back. "You'll never know until you try."

Kirk nodded and promptly returned his attention to his food, suddenly unsure what to do with himself. He continued to be reserved for the few hours it took for Spock to finally wake up and be released from the Hospital Wing, Madam Pomfrey announcing that he had 'made an amazing recovery'. McCoy, knowing what the reason was behind this, mercifully remained quiet and allowed the Captain to think, understanding that Kirk was mentally planning out what he was going to say.

Spock gave Kirk a curious glance when they came to collect him from the Hospital Wing, but otherwise showed no reaction to Kirk's abrupt change in mood, instead being occupied with McCoy's customary argument involving injury and Quidditch together, which only stopped when they reached the Room of Requirement.

"I have some Transfigurations work to finish," McCoy grimaced as he walked over to his school bag. "Hermione offered to help me with it, and knowing me it'll probably take a while..." he trailed off as he piled stuff into his bag.

"I could assist you."

McCoy turned down Spock's offer slightly too quickly. "Since Hermione's already offered and will be waiting in the Common Room, I should probably just go. Thanks anyway, Spock," he grinned. When Spock turned to claim a chair by the fire, McCoy pushed Kirk roughly further into the room.

"Remember what I said," he whispered, giving Kirk one last reassuring grin before disappearing from the room altogether.

Kirk coughed nervously and shuffled over to where Spock was sitting, taking the opportunity to gaze into the fire in order to collect his thoughts. He was about to speak when Spock's voice interrupted him.

"You are oddly introspective this evening, Jim."

Kirk nodded, licking his lips in an uncharacteristically nervous gesture before continuing. Spock, picking up on this, regarded him curiously. "Spock..." he paused briefly, but then ploughed on. "When that Bludger hit you..." he paused again, as though weighing his words, "I felt...something." Inwardly, Kirk was cringing at himself.

"That is illogical, Jim. I fail to comprehend how you could have been physically affected by my accident."

"I didn't mean physically," Kirk said, a blush tingeing his cheeks red as he realised that Spock had not caught the euphemism. Damn, he really needed to write Spock that human phrases dictionary... "I meant emotionally."

Spock seemed to process that for a while, travelling through all the nuances of human language and emotion before he reached the conclusion that Kirk expected him to reach. What Kirk didn't expect was for Spock to remain quiet, a look of profound pain lodged deeply in his eyes.

"What is it?" he asked, fear creeping into his words despite his best efforts to hide it. This was not going how he had hoped.

"I know, Jim." The words were so quiet that, had it not been for the subtle movement of Spock's lips, Kirk would not have believed that they had been spoken.

"You do?" he asked, astonishment and a tentative hope making his voice rise slightly in pitch. "How?"

Spock looked down at his shoes, his eyes heavy. "You are forgetting that I am a touch telepath."

Surely not the squid? But Spock's face was still hidden, and it wasn't to hide his amusement at what had been dubbed by McCoy as the "squid fiasco". "And I...slapped you on the shoulder a lot," he inwardly cursed himself for not noticing sooner, "didn't I?" Kirk finally said, wondering if perhaps Spock was embarrassed by this truth.

"Indeed." The head did not rise.

"I'm sorry," Kirk murmured softly. "I should have remembered that you could read my thoughts." He gave Spock's hair a self deprecating smile, inwardly wondering why the Vulcan would not meet his eyes. "I did have a crash course in Vulcan telepathy after all..."

The man before him drew in a breath. "There is no need for you to apologise, Jim." The eyes finally seemed to find the courage to meet his. "It is I who must."

He hadn't been expecting _that_. Kirk blinked, the immeasurable surprise filtering into his voice when he finally spoke. "Why?" Spock did not answer, and realisation dawned. "You don't love me back."

Kirk noticed that Spock did not refute the statement, and the abrupt disappointment which filled him stopped him from noticing the heavy eyes, the stiff jaw or the subtle trembling of hands lying on the Vulcan's lap as Spock spoke his next words, his voice carefully devoid of emotion.

"I...do not wish to cause you pain, Jim."

He felt as though his heart had been ripped from his body and stabbed repeatedly. _So Bones was right_, _I do care for him..._was all he could think. "You're not."

Spock gave him a look, the Vulcan version of 'bull shit'.

"Alright," he amended, "...it hurts."

Spock nodded, to Kirk's utter surprise and confusion. "I know," he whispered, almost too quiet to hear. "Jim, I am sorry."

"Don't be," he finally said. He gave a weak smile, knowing how unconvincing it was to both of them. "Hermione is helping Bones with homework," he muttered, falling back on the lie that McCoy has just told, "I might ask her if she's doing Potions." He struggled to blink away the film which was suddenly in his eyes.

He picked up his school bag to hide his struggle. "I think I might go and join them. I need the help..." He fled the room, missing the slump of defeat in the Vulcan's shoulders.

"Jim?" McCoy asked, attempting to stop the Captain in his tracks. "What happened?"

Kirk did not answer, pushing past the surgeon's concerned gaze and heading towards the library, having no intention of going to join Hermione. The expression on his face was answer enough.

McCoy understood everything in that moment, his face changing from concern to incensed in an alarmingly short space of time as every single protective instinct regarding James Kirk popped into place. Quickly remembering the lie he had concocted to give him an excuse to come back to the room to check on their progress, he slammed open the door and stormed in.

"I forgot something," he growled, knowing that Spock was not convinced for even a moment. Slamming the door back shut and dropping the pretence, he found himself towering over the Vulcan, who had until that moment been staring solemnly into the fire from his armchair.

"Alright Spock, let's have it."

"I do not-"

"Yes you damn well do," McCoy spat, not in the mood for word games. "I know what Jim just asked you...how else do you think he found the courage to do it?"

"I did not realise..." Spock began, his voice sounding oddly helpless. McCoy resolutely ignored it.

"And that's your problem, Spock, you never realise a God damned thing! This was the first time, damn it!" McCoy bellowed at the Vulcan. "The first time that he's ever felt true love for anyone, and you threw it back into his face!"

"I did not-"

"Did you even give him an explanation, Spock?" McCoy demanded, too infuriated to allow the Vulcan to finish. "Of course not. When have you ever given an explanation for your high and mighty logical decisions?"

Spock stood up, bringing their eyes into contact, and that was when McCoy knew that Spock was not unaffected. Those dark eyes were the windows into Spock's soul, a way of looking into his very being, and right now McCoy was staring at them.

"I could not explain, Leonard."

"Why the hell not?"

Spock didn't answer, his gaze drifting away from McCoy's.

"Oh no you don't," McCoy snapped, drawing Spock's attention back to him. "You can at least have the decency to _look_ at the best friend of the man whose heart you just crushed!"

McCoy had expected Spock to fight back, to justify himself with as many logical reasons as could be accepted, to stoically bear anything that the Doctor threw at him with cold indifference, but he just stood there, his dark, emotional eyes betraying the turmoil within him.

But McCoy could not yet move beyond the anger that threatened to push him over the edge. "You love him too, Spock!" He screeched, seeing Spock's gaze meet his once more, surprise showing in its depths.

"I'm not an idiot," he snapped in reply to the silent question. "It's obvious to anyone who knows you both, but what's not obvious is how you can be so incapable of understanding that you throw away happiness for both of you!"

"I am not incapable, Leonard."

"Then why didn't you accept what he was saying, why didn't you tell him?" Spock didn't answer. "For the love of God, Spock! You just ripped out that man's heart! If you don't have the decency to even tell him that you love him back, or even why you rejected him, then at least tell me!"

"Telling you will not accomplish anything."

McCoy stared at him. "How can you stand there and say that? How can you cause both of you so much pain?"

"I am not-"

"Don't bother denying it, Spock. I can see how much this is tearing you up, how much this hurts you. I just can't see why you'd do it."

Spock lowered his head and sat back down, the gesture of defeat from the usually indestructible Vulcan so shocking that McCoy stumbled to a halt in his tirade.

"You would not understand."

Suddenly, everything clicked into place. "You don't think you deserve to love him, do you?"

Spock looked up in surprise once more, but did not answer. His silence was damning.

McCoy sighed and flopped into a chair opposite the Vulcan, feeling suddenly drained. "Oh Lord..." he moaned to himself. "We've fallen into a Shakespeare play..." He leaned forwards and fixed Spock's bent head with an intense stare. "Spock, look at me."

There was a brief moment of hesitation, but Spock eventually brought his head up to meet McCoy's eyes.

"You are worthy of him, Spock."

Spock shook his head. "I am not."

Right then, McCoy could have cursed everyone and anyone who had ever verbally or physically tried to abuse Spock. "Listen to me very carefully," he said quietly. "They were wrong, Spock, all of them. You're not worthless, and you certainly don't need the right to love someone." He weighed his words very carefully before speaking, knowing that any mistake would send him right back to square one.

"You're perfect for him, can't you see that? Racial status doesn't matter to Jim and it shouldn't matter to anyone else. Those people who told you differently...they were all wrong – very wrong. Race doesn't change what anyone thinks of you, Spock. Race is not important. What _is_ important – what Jim loves about you – is your character, your personality. He loves _you_, Spock, he cares for _you_." He paused to see if his words were having any effect, but was not encouraged by what he saw.

"I know that one speech from me, no matter what I say or how much I beg you to see, can't change a whole lifetime of believing the opposite," he said finally, "but I ask you to think about it, Spock. All those in your life who love you – they don't care about your race, they don't care about whether or not you're 'worthy'. They are the people whose opinions matter, not the bigots who don't know you." He paused again. "Consider it," he repeated.

Spock looked up, the dark eyes still so full of pain and remembered torment that McCoy could hardly bear to look at them, and nodded once.

"Good," McCoy said, getting up from his chair. "And now," he announced, "I have to go and try to explain to Jim what went wrong..." he regarded the Vulcan before him. "You'll have to talk to him about it sometime, you know. I can explain now, but it will mean much more coming from you. You need to tell him the truth."

Once he was sure that the First Officer had heard him, he left the room considerably more quietly than he had entered, and walked to the library, knowing that Kirk tended to bury himself in work or exercise whenever he became overcome with emotion. Since it was both too cold and too late to go for a jog around the grounds, he would not be anywhere else.

Sure enough, upon entering the library he spotted the sandy haired man in a far corner, alone, writing notes from a textbook. As he drew closer, McCoy noticed the warning signs; tense shoulders and jaw, focused expression and an unwillingness to acknowledge the presence of another person. He sat down anyway. If he didn't say anything now, it would be too late, and God knew that Spock wasn't in the right frame of mind to do it right now.

"Jim, I heard what happened," he said quietly.

Kirk did not look up from his text book. "About what?" He asked with a passable attempt at a vague tone of voice, but McCoy could hear the underlying pain.

"Look at me," he said softly, gently taking the quill from Kirk's unresisting hand and setting it to one side. "Jim...I talked to Spock about it."

All at once, Kirk's eyes blazed. "You had no right to discuss it behind my back."

"I had every right," McCoy countered. "I'm your friend, and I'm Spock's too. When something this big comes between you both, it's my job to sort it out."

Kirk's eyes remained fiery. "Subterfuge?"

"No," McCoy said, forcing himself not to get angry at the blatant accusation. "Investigation."

Kirk snorted. "What did he say?"

"Not much," McCoy admitted, "but I know why he turned you down. He loves you, Jim, but he doesn't feel like he deserves you."

"How do you know this if he didn't say anything?"

"Give me a little credit," McCoy snapped, his patience fraying slightly. "I suggested the possibility and he didn't deny it. Where Spock's concerned, that's a confession." Kirk didn't look convinced, but McCoy ploughed on regardless. "He doesn't think he's worthy, Jim."

Kirk's brow creased. "Spock?" He asked incredulously. "How can he possibly think that?"

"That's what I thought, until I remembered the hints that he's dropped about his childhood, and the various things that you told me older Spock had said."

Kirk's eyes widened in understanding. "Oh God..."

McCoy nodded. "For supposedly unemotional beings," he said bitterly, "Vulcan children sure are brilliant at causing emotional trauma."

"Why didn't he tell me himself?" Kirk asked, eyes narrowing in slight suspicion. "Why did he send you to do it?"

"He didn't. I came by myself when I found out, but he knows that I'm here," he added at Kirk's darkening expression. "I told him before I left that you deserved some sort of explanation and he seemed to agree – or at least, he didn't protest."

"I still wish he told me himself," Kirk muttered.

"I know, but when I left he didn't look in any state to talk to anybody, and I think you're the last person he wanted to face after what he just did."

Kirk winced, but nodded. "That's...understandable."

"I tried to explain to him that what he's been told isn't true," McCoy continued quietly, "that racial status doesn't matter to you, but I don't think I can overcome a whole lifetime of emotional abuse in just one conversation."

"It'll take time."

"Yes," McCoy replied. "It'll take time, but I think he'll realise eventually that it doesn't matter. He knows that everyone aboard the ship has a high opinion of him, and hopefully that'll be enough."

Kirk mulled this over for a moment or two. "What do we do in the meantime?"

"In the meantime," McCoy said, "all we can do is wait, and hope that he realises he made a mistake in both doubting himself and turning you down. Until then, we need to continue to show him support and do our best – indirectly of course – to make him understand that he's valued."

Kirk sighed as the full weight of the situation settled on him. "I hope it's enough," he said grimly, watching the students on a table nearby as they chatted and laughed together and wished, not for the first time, that life could be that simple again.


	23. Weasley is our King

**23. Weasley is our King.**

The day of the first Gryffindor match dawned, cold and early but mercifully clear. Around the Great Hall, the tables were a bustle of activity as everyone debated on who should win; Gryffindor or Slytherin. Needless to say, there were more Gryffindor colours flashing around the room than green and silver. Yet there was something else, they noticed as they crossed the room, that was not part of the team colours.

"This can't be good," McCoy muttered as he saw a Slytherin waving his arms at his badge and jeering in the general direction of Ron.

"What do the badges say?"

McCoy squinted and read, reporting quietly under his breath so that no one else could hear. "Weasley is our king."

"We can't let Ron see them."

"Why would they be targeting him?"

Kirk rolled his eyes at the inane question. "You haven't been paying attention, have you, Bones? Whenever we've used the pitch, the Slytherins have been there watching. They used to jeer at anyone who made a mistake." He lowered his voice a bit more, making McCoy strain to hear him. "It made Ron so nervous that he let in more goals than he should have."

Comprehension dawned on McCoy's face. "He looks nervous enough as it is," he noted, glancing at the teenager. "We _definitely _can't let him see them."

Giving a slight nod of assent, Kirk sat in his usual spot, hearing McCoy drop into the seat next to him and immediately reach for the cereal. Nearby, Ron had sunk into his own place and was staring at the toast as though he feared it would cut his head off.

"I must've been mental to do this," they heard him groan. "_Mental_."

Harry passed him several boxes of cereal, but Ron made no move to touch them. "Don't be thick. You're going to be fine. It's normal to be nervous."

Everyone who was in close enough proximity to hear this automatically categorised that as an understatement. Ron's skin had turned almost as pale as the milk in McCoy's cereal, and when he wasn't speaking his lips were pressed tightly together – as though he suspected he was going to be sick.

"I'm rubbish," he whispered, voice croaking slightly. "I'm lousy. I can't play to save my life. What was I thinking?"

Harry assumed as stern an expression as he could muster, his gaze focused unwaveringly on Ron. "Get a grip," he ordered. "Look at that save you made with your foot the other day, even Fred and George said it was brilliant."

Ron shook his head in miserable defeat. "That was an accident. I didn't mean to do it – I slipped off my broom when none of you were looking and when I was trying to get back on I kicked the Quaffle by accident."

Harry blinked in surprise but recovered quickly. "Well...a few more accidents like that and the game's in the bag, isn't it?"

Hermione and Ginny had sat down during this exchange, their cheerful grins becoming more sombre and understanding when they saw the state that Ron was in.

"How're you feeling?" Ginny asked quietly.

Ron left Harry to answer. "He's just nervous."

Hermione, upon hearing this, attempted a genuinely bright smile in a valiant attempt to cheer Ron up. "Well, that's a good sign, I never feel you perform as well in exams if you're not a bit nervous."

"Not really the same thing," Kirk muttered, but no one heard him.

McCoy, who had been staring into the distance in shocked silence, poked Kirk in the ribs. "Look at that," he murmured, nodding his head in the direction of Luna, who had arrived at their table and was smiling dreamily down at them. On top of her hair perched a very realistic lion head.

"Hello. I'm supporting Gryffindor." Everyone immediately found their eyes drawn to the oddity on her head. "Look what it does..."

With a quick tap of her wand, the lion's head roared, causing McCoy to jump and knock his cereal bowl off the table and into his lap.

"Damn it!" He shrieked dramatically, dabbing at the mess futilely with an increasingly soggy napkin, "Why is everyone in this castle trying to give me a heart attack? You've all taken years off my life!"

Kirk laughed and slapped the irate man on the shoulder. "I've been doing that for years..."

"Which definitely hasn't helped," McCoy snapped.

"Here," Hermione said sympathetically, reaching across the table and vanishing the mess.

"Thanks," the Doctor grumbled, putting his empty bowl back onto the table.

"You should have left it there you know," Luna said. "My father tells me that milk helps to repel Krinklebiters. You don't want them biting you there."

"...No," McCoy agreed, looking slightly lost, "I suppose I don't."

Luna made her hat roar again, grinning up at it through her eyelashes, which caused her subsequent comment to be directed at the ceiling. "It's good, isn't it? I wanted to have it chewing up a serpent to represent Slytherin, you know, but there wasn't time. Anyway...good luck, Ronald!" Humming a tune to herself and not waiting for a response, she drifted away.

Kirk raised his eyebrows. "That hat was...creative." McCoy half snorted and half growled, torn between amusement at Kirk's assessment, and anger at the fact that the growling hat had made him make a spectacle of himself at breakfast. Again.

"When you're ready," Angelina said, approaching them without any preamble, "we're going to go straight down to the pitch, check out conditions, and change."

"Are you going with them, Jim?"

Kirk nodded. "I have to be ready to replace someone if it's urgent."

McCoy frowned his displeasure at that, but otherwise said nothing.

Ten minutes later, and Ron was still staring at his breakfast as though it was the ultimate bringer of doom. Finally, Harry relented and began to gently guide his dazed and miserable friend away from the table.

Before they left, McCoy grabbed his arm. "Don't let Ron see those badges," he warned.

"Why not?"

"You'll see why," he said grimly before letting go of the boy's sleeve.

Together, the Quidditch players began to leave, McCoy following them to the Entrance Hall. "And don't do anything idiotic, Jim!" He bellowed after them.

Kirk grinned and gave him a mock salute before following the others out the door, leaving McCoy to grumble his way back over to the table.

"At least they're not facing dragons," someone muttered to him helpfully.

McCoy glared at them. "Thank you for putting _that_ image into my mind," he snapped.

"They'll be fine," Ginny assured him.

McCoy snorted. "The last time Jim said that he ended up almost bleeding to death in the Hospital Wing."

Hermione frowned disapprovingly. "I told them to stop using the Blood Blisterpods, but they wouldn't listen to me."

McCoy waved his hand at her. "_That_ was an accident, this won't be."

"Jim's not even playing," Ginny commented.

"He doesn't need to be involved to be involved, if you know what I mean," McCoy muttered darkly as they polished off their meals and began the cold trek to the pitch.

"I'm sure it won't come to that," Hermione replied.

"Then you don't know Jim Kirk."

They filed into the stands and took seats close to the action, noticing as they did so that the Slytherins looked particularly hopeful. Badges glittered upon every single chest, the only exception being Spock, who didn't look happy about this tactic but couldn't do anything about it. He was already on the substitute bench, McCoy noticed, and the Slytherin team were already waiting on the pitch. Then, with an almighty cheer from the crowds watching, the Gryffindors emerged.

When everyone was in position, the stands quietened in anticipation, allowing for the next words to be heard clearly.

"Captains, shake hands." Two people came forward and shook hands, and McCoy could imagine them glaring at one another. "Mount your brooms..."

A whistle blew.

Players and balls shot into the air in a brief crowd of confusion before training took over and some semblance of organisation returned to the pitch.

"And it's Johnson," the disembodied voice of Lee Jordan boomed, "Johnson with the Quaffle, what a player that girl is, I've been saying it for years but she still won't go out with me-"

"JORDAN!" The equally disembodied voice of McGonagall yelled.

"You have quite a commentator there," McCoy chuckled to the two students beside him.

"...fun fact, Professor, adds a bit of interest – and she's ducked Warrington, she's passed Montague-"

"Oh my God," McCoy gasped as he gawped at the pitch.

"...been hit from behind by a Bludger from Crabbe..."

"This game is a death trap."

"That's why we love it," someone replied cheekily, causing McCoy to roll his eyes.

"...Montague heading back up the pitch and – nice Bludger there from George Weasley, that's a Bludger to the head for Montague, he drops the Quaffle-"

"And several brain cells," McCoy muttered, wincing at the impact of the Bludger on the boy's head.

"-caught by Katie Bell, Katie Bell of Gryffindor reverse-passes to Alicia Spinnet and Spinnet's away-"

Everyone in the audience seemed to be holding their collective breath.

"-dodges Warrington, avoids a Bludger – close call, Alicia – and the crowd are loving this, just listen to them, what's that they're singing?"

"This can't be good," McCoy muttered, but his voice was drowned out by the roaring sea of green and silver:

"_Weasley cannot save a thing,_

_He cannot block a single ring,_

_That's why Slytherins all sing:_

_Weasley is our King."_

McCoy rolled his eyes in annoyance. "If they're going to mock someone they could at least pick a decent tune..."

"_-always lets the Quaffle in_

_Weasley will make sure we win_

_Weasley is our king."_

"-and Alicia passes back to Angelina!" The voice was trying valiantly to drown out the malicious chanting, and anger rippled across the stands as the Slytherins raised the pitch to counter-act this. "Come on now, Angelina – looks like she's got just the Keeper to beat! – SHE SHOOTS – SHE-"

-McCoy found himself on his feet cheering enthusiastic encouragement along with the rest of the crowd-

"-aaaah..."

The goal had been saved. This prompted a fresh wave of chanting from the crowd. _"Weasley is our King..."_

"-and it's Warrington with the Quaffle, Warrington heading for the goal, he's out of Bludger range with just the Keeper ahead-"

"_Weasley cannot save a thing,_

_He cannot block a single ring..."_

"They're not helping damn it!" McCoy bellowed amidst the hubbub, jabbing an angry finger at the Slytherin supporters.

"-so it's the first test for the new Gryffindor Keeper Weasley, brother of Beaters Fred and George, and a promising new talent on the team – come on, Ron!"

This cry was echoed all over the stands, but was soon drowned out by the Slytherin jeering as the Quaffle sailed through Ron's hands and into the central hoop.

"Slytherin score!" The voice boomed without enthusiasm. "So that's ten-nil to Slytherin – bad luck, Ron."

"_WEASLEY WAS BORN IN A BIN_..."

"Is there some way we can shut them up?" McCoy demanded.

"No," Hermione said gravely. "We just have to hope that Ron doesn't listen to them..."

"-and Gryffindor back in possession and it's Katie Bell tanking up the pitch, and it's Warrington again, who passes to Pucey, Pucey's off past Spinnet, come on now, Angelina, you can take him – turns out you can't – but nice Bludger from Fred Weasley, I mean, George Weasley, oh, who cares, one of them, anyway, and Warrington drops the Quaffle and Katie Bell-"

A cheer was abruptly cut off by disappointment.

"-er – drops it, too – so that's Montague with the Quaffle, Slytherin Captain Montague takes the Quaffle and he's off up the pitch, come on now, Gryffindor, block him!"

"_WEASLEY_..."

"OH GOOD LORD!" McCoy bellowed at the Slytherins, thoroughly incensed by now. "CAN'T YOU PEOPLE JUST SHUT UP?"

"-and Pucey's dodged Angelina again and he's heading straight for the goal, stop it, Ron!"

The Slytherins were on their feet now, stamping along to the tune. _"THAT'S WHY SLYTHERINS ALL SING..."_

McCoy was still raging. "Can't we remove all their voice boxes or something?" He demanded for what felt like the tenth time that match, and Hermione shook her head regretfully, her eyes fixed worriedly on Ron.

"-and Katie Bell of Gryffindor dodges Pucey, ducks Montague, nice swerve, Katie, and she throws to Johnson, Angelina Johnson takes the Quaffle, she's past Warrington, she's heading for the goal, come on now, Angelina – GRYFFINDOR SCORE!"

Everyone but the Slytherins screamed in triumph and jumped up and down, drowning out the jeers from the green team.

"It's forty-ten, forty-ten to Slytherin and Pucey has the Quaffle..."

"Can Gryffindor still win?" McCoy asked.

Ginny nodded. "Unless the Slytherins score much more or catch the Snitch, we have a chance."

"-Pucey throws to Warrington, Warrington to Montague, Montague back to Pucey – Johnson intervenes, Johnson takes the Quaffle, Johnson to Bell, this looks good – I mean bad – Bell's hit by a Bludger from Goyle of Slytherin and it's Pucey in possession again..."

"Look!" Ginny suddenly bellowed, pointing into the sky. McCoy followed her gaze.

Both Harry and Malfoy had begun zooming after the Snitch – a glittering gold prize or bringer of defeat depending on who caught it...

"They're neck and neck!" The voice bellowed in nervous excitement.

Everyone leaned forwards and held their breaths, attention diverted momentarily from the pitch to the sky where the fate of two teams was playing out before their very eyes.

"AND HARRY POTTER HAS WON THE GAME FOR GRYFFINDOR!"

There was a frantic collective cheer from the Gryffindor supporters even while the Slytherins booed their disappointment.

"He's holding it up for all to see – Harry Potter, who was the youngest player in decades when he first joined the team, has caught – WHAT IN MERLIN'S NAME WAS THAT FOR?"

"JORDAN!" Someone bellowed, their voice getting drowned out as the whole of Gryffindor voiced their protest.

"Harry Potter has been hit in the back by a Bludger-"

"I knew something like this would happen!" McCoy shrieked. "Whichever fool invented this game should be thrown in an asylum-"

"Calm down," Ginny said, smiling and pointing at the pitch. "Harry's alright, look."

"Oh," McCoy muttered in relief, having run out of steam. "In that case..." he sat back down fairly calmly compared to the way in which he had leapt to his feet, much to everyone's amusement.

"-is alright, folks," Lee Jordan boomed. "It seems that Crabbe – that big gorilla-"

"JORDAN!" Though this time the voice sounded half hearted.

"-smacked him in the back with a Bludger. Doing that when someone's back is turned, I don't know, he should be locked up in a prison – or a zoo, maybe-"

"Your job is to commentate," McGonagall snapped, apparently having reached her wit's end, "not to rant."

"And right you are, Professor McGonagall," though there was not a hint of remorse in the voice.

"Uh oh," Ginny muttered.

Following her gaze, McCoy could see Malfoy laughing before the usual group of Gryffindors, triumph written on his face. His mouth opened and he spat another insult, causing both Harry and George to rush over to him, wearing twin murderous expressions.

"What do they think they're doing?" Hermione exclaimed, worry written plainly across her face.

"Starting a brawl with Malfoy?" Ginny asked hopefully.

"If Umbridge catches this she'll have them taken off the team," Hermione continued, searching the teachers' seats frantically. "You know what she's like..."

"Madam Hooch has seen," Ginny murmured, pointing at the scene before them.

Sure enough, the angry and storming figure of Madam Hooch could be seen towering over what had been a free for all brawl, eyes blazing and screaming words that they couldn't hear over the murmur of speculation in the stands.

A few moments later, Harry and George turned and stormed back up to the castle, leaving a curled up Malfoy on the ground.

"He's milking it," Ginny said in automatic disgust.

"If they'd let me down there," McCoy muttered, every doctor's instinct having snapped into place, "I could tell you for sure."

"Madam Pomfrey has it under control," Hermione said.

"We should probably get back up to the castle," Ginny suggested, even as groups of people around them began to get up and make their way out the stands. "I want to see what happens..."

They met up with Spock, who did not look gleeful, as the other Slytherins did at the thought of the Gryffindors being punished, but sombre. Ahead of them, Madam Pomfrey was helping a whimpering Malfoy up the steps to the castle.

"Git," Ginny said with feeling, glaring daggers at the pale boy's back. "He deserved every punch he got."

"No one deserves to be attacked two on one like that," McCoy said, remembering many times that he he'd had to patch Kirk up after just that.

"This is Malfoy," Ginny spat. "He's always insulting our family – obviously this time he went further than usual."

"He might be a slime ball," McCoy agreed, "but you have to look at the reasons behind it. He was sore that he lost, so he tried to take victory in the only way possible – causing pain."

"Indeed," Spock added. "If they had retained control over their emotions, they would have denied him this."

"This isn't the only time he's done something like this," Ginny argued. "Are you saying we should let him get away with it?"

"It would avoid punishment," Spock replied.

Ginny shook her head at them both. "You two are trying to turn us into hippies," she complained.

"Hippies?" Spock echoed in slight confusion.

"Have you been living in a cave on mars, or something?" Seamus asked, having caught up with them, grinning at his own joke.

"There are no cave colonies on Mars. However, there are dome covered cities on the surface, where machine regulated environmental controls ensure the survival of the inhabitants."

Seamus blinked and began walking back to his own friends, apparently having decided against talking to Spock. They dimly heard him say, "Forget I asked," under his breath as he went.

"A hippy," Hermione explained as they clambered up a flight of stairs, "is known to be someone who promotes peace and non-violence."

Spock nodded. "I see."

"Basically a very colourful, spaced out Vulcan," McCoy clarified.

"Thank you, Leonard, I was able to discern the similarities without that particular input," Spock said dryly.

"Alright, alright," McCoy said, holding his hands up as though asking for a truce. "How do you know what Doctor Who is, but not what hippies are?"

"It appears that there were some sizeable gaps in my historical education of Earth culture," Spock murmured, his brow creased as they trundled to a halt.

"You shouldn't have stopped me!" they suddenly heard Fred yell as he and Kirk came into view.

"I know he deserved it," Kirk replied calmly, "but it wouldn't have helped."

"He's a scumbag-"

"But not worth the punishment," Kirk interrupted, allowing a wry smile to touch his lips briefly. "Trust me; I've been through _that_ many times..."

Fred scowled and opened his mouth to argue more, but the Fat Lady's irate voice interrupted him.

"Are you going to give me the password or do you intend to re-enact a soap drama before my eyes?"

Fred looked like he was about to give her a piece of his mind, but Hermione silenced him with a surprisingly fearsome glare.

"Hippogriff," she said quickly, moving to go through the door but stopping when it wouldn't open. "Has it been changed?" Her voice showed her absolute confidence that this was not the case.

"You got it right," the Fat Lady replied, but her narrowed eyes were focused on Spock and his Slytherin house badge. "But _he_ can't come in here."

"Why not?" McCoy demanded.

"He's a Slytherin," the portrait replied in an annoyed voice at having to explain herself.

"So?" Kirk asked.

"Those are the rules."

"Very well," Spock said in resignation. "I shall visit the Slytherin common room."

"Spock-" Kirk began.

"I am most likely to be expected there in any case, Jim, as I may be needed to replace Mister Malfoy."

"We'll tell you what happens on this end," Kirk promised.

Spock nodded. "That would be appreciated. I shall be in the Room of Requirement at the usual time," he informed them.

"It's a date," Kirk joked, grinning as the predictable eyebrow rose, but there was a hint of sadness in his voice that McCoy pretended to overlook.

"...Indeed." With a slightly bemused look, Spock began the walk to the Slytherin common room.

"Stop teasing him, Jim," McCoy said in exasperation as they stepped into a very rowdy room. Apparently, complaints were well underway, instead of the celebration that they had expected. They seemed to know that a severe punishment was coming.

"Says you," Kirk retorted as they stole some empty chairs by the fire.

"It's expected of me," McCoy continued. "In fact, it's my right. You, on the other hand..."

"Am the captain and tease everybody and anybody anyway," Kirk finished, "so stop making a fuss. You're just jealous," he added, batting his eyelashes ridiculously in the campest way possible.

McCoy rolled his eyes. "You just keep deluding yourself, Jim."

Kirk was about to reply when the door to the common room swung open and both Harry and George stormed angrily over to the rest of the team, studiously ignoring the accusing eyes on them.

"What happened?" Angelina demanded immediately.

"Me, Fred and George are banned," Harry spat angrily.

There was a ripple of outrage across the room as everyone heard the news.

"What?" Fred asked incredulously.

"Umbridge decided to ban you too, mate," George explained. "She thought you were too much of a risk."

"I didn't do anything!"

"I think it was more the fact that you would have," George said darkly.

"You should have let me go," Fred accused Kirk.

"I was trying to stop you from getting caught!"

"Well it didn't work, did it?" Fred shot back. "To think I could have had the chance to break his nose..." he said wistfully.

"Banned," Angelina muttered brokenly, not having heard the conversation. "_Banned_. No Seeker and no Beaters...what on earth are we going to do?"

McCoy glanced warily at Kirk, as though expecting him to volunteer or die at any moment from just putting himself on the real team, but the Captain remained tactfully silent.

"It's just so unfair," a girl they recognised as Alicia said. "I mean, what about Crabbe and that Bludger he hit after the whistle had been blown? Has she banned _him_?"

Ginny grimaced. "No. He just got lines."

"How do you know that?" McCoy asked in surprise.

"I heard someone talking about it as we came up here."

"...I need to pay more attention."

"And banning Fred when he didn't even do anything!"

"It's not my fault," Fred said, giving Kirk a defiant look.

"It was for your own good," Kirk argued.

Angelina sighed in frustration. "We're going to have to get replacements..." She surveyed the people before her. "Ginny, can you step in as Seeker?"

"I'd prefer not to," Ginny replied, and Harry immediately stiffened, "but I will."

"Good. Now...Jim, will you be a Beater? I know it's short notice and you're new to the game..."

"I'll do my best," Kirk replied seriously.

"Right," Angelina said. "As for the other Beater...I'll have to sort that out another day. Right now, I'm going to bed." She clambered wearily to her feet. "Maybe I'll wake up tomorrow and find we haven't played yet..."

"In that case," Kirk announced, "we'd better be getting back to the Room of Requirement, or Spock will be wondering where we are."

"We'll see you tomorrow then," Hermione murmured as everyone else was rendered too listless by the new to react to anything much.

"Umbridge is going to be a nightmare," McCoy complained once they had stepped into the relative quiet of the corridor. "She was bad enough as it was without _this_ happening to put her up a notch in her own opinion."

"She's definitely worse than some admirals I could mention," Kirk agreed. "Normally, I'd find a way to bring her down a peg or two..."

"But we need the protection of the school," McCoy finished miserably, "and she has the authority to throw us out. I'm surprised she hasn't already."

Kirk shrugged. "I think we have Professor Dumbledore to thank for that. I doubt Fudge would have let us stay here otherwise..."

McCoy frowned. "He should be readying troops for war with Voldemort," several nearby paintings winced, "not fighting conspiracy theories."

"Luckily for him there's less evidence supporting the return of Voldemort, now that he is technically unavailable to terrorise people."

"I wonder how Scotty's getting on."

"As far as we know," Kirk said thoughtfully, "Harry hasn't had any more visions, so there have hopefully been no repeats of what Spock saw when he protected Harry's mind."

"Unless Harry is keeping further visions a secret," McCoy pointed out.

"Knowing Scotty though, he's split them up after that incident so they'll be less likely to escape or hurt each other."

"We can only hope so," McCoy replied as they entered the Room of Requirement.

They made their way wearily to the fire, where Spock was waiting patiently for them.

"So," Kirk asked, "all quiet on the Slytherin front?"

"Negative. Mister Malfoy has been advised against participating in further Quidditch, on the orders of Madam Pomfrey. It would appear that she has finally reached – I believe the correct expression is – 'the end of her rope', regarding the numerous series of conflicts resulting in injury concerning both Mister Malfoy and Mister Potter."

"Which leaves you as Seeker," Kirk deduced.

"That is correct."

"It's too bad that Gryffindor and Slytherin have already played – I'd have enjoyed finally beating you at something," Kirk teased.

"Indeed?"

"Harry, Fred and George have been banned," McCoy filled in. "Ginny is the new Seeker and Jim is a Beater. They haven't found a second one yet."

"That is an interesting development," Spock noted. "It would appear that Professor Umbridge is gradually becoming uncontrollable."

"You can say that again," McCoy huffed, getting up and walking over to his bed.

"I would prefer not to."

The only reply was a groan and a heavy thump as McCoy allowed himself to fall backwards, not even bothering to dignify that comment with an argument.


	24. Hagrid's Inspection

**24. Hagrid's Inspection. **

"Hagrid's back," Harry told Kirk and McCoy as they trooped into breakfast.

Sure enough, Hagrid was seated at the staff table, his large presence as always distracting the attention of many first year students, who hadn't had much opportunity to be taught by him yet. But it wasn't only his height that caught their attention; Hagrid had livid bruises covering his face and forearms, from what they could see at this distance, and most likely more hidden out of sight. One eye was swollen mostly shut, and he appeared to be struggling to see out of it as he surveyed the room before him over a large plate of eggs. Several people were eyeing him with expressions alternately showing curiosity and concern.

"He looks...beaten up," McCoy concluded. "What was he doing, wrestling a troll?"

"Should we tell them?" Ron asked Hermione, who considered quietly for a moment.

"They're just as involved with You-Know-Who as we are," she said finally, "and they have a right to know. After all, the giants might come down here and try to use terror to get them back, since the Death Eaters need the three of them to bring You-Know-Who back."

"Can they do that?" McCoy asked.

"There are wards protecting the castle, but I don't know how long they'd last against a concentrated and desperate attack by Death Eaters and their followers."

"So," Kirk butted in, "where does Hagrid get involved in this?"

Hermione leaned forward, lowering her voice so they would not be overheard. "Hagrid was acting on secret instructions from Dumbledore to find some giants in the mountains."

"They were trying to get them on our side," Ron added.

"They?" Kirk repeated.

"Hagrid and Madame Maxim," Harry explained. "She's the headmistress of Beauxbatons School in France."

"Anyway," Hermione continued smoothly, "there weren't that many left because of a combination of fights amongst themselves and with wizards."

"They're still a very powerful lot though," Ron warned. "You don't want to mess with giants."

"We went to see him the night he got back," Hermione said. "It took several months – as you know – for them to travel there and back since they couldn't be followed. The Ministry is still very suspicious of people working for Dumbledore, and of course the Death Eaters are keeping a closer eye on us now than ever before. At first, everything went well. The Gurg – that's the leader of the group of giants – seemed to like them-"

"Probably because of all the gifts," Ron said with a small grin of amusement.

"Unfortunately," Hermione continued as though she had never been interrupted, "it all went wrong. A fight broke out among the giants-"

"It's what they do best," Ron interjected, earning himself a glare from Hermione. "Sorry..."

"-and the Gurg was killed and replaced by one who wasn't interested in what Hagrid and Madame Maxime had to say. From what Hagrid tells us, they barely managed to get away before they were attacked."

Kirk grimaced. "We know how they felt."

"So that's it?" McCoy asked. "They came back?"

"Dumbledore was relying on them," Harry said, "so no."

"But that's-"

"Mental, we know," Ron said in agreement with McCoy.

"They tried to persuade those who didn't support the new Gurg to come over to our side," Harry continued.

"That's great!"

"Don't lose your head, Bones," Kirk warned, his voice grim. "What do you mean, 'tried'?"

"The caves where the outcasts were hiding were raided by other giants. Those who survived wanted nothing to do with the battle against You-Know-Who."

"Great," McCoy complained darkly.

"He was going to tell us more," Harry said, "but Umbridge arrived."

"She's already looking down on Hagrid," Hermione said, angrily glaring at the pompous woman up on the platform. "And if he's not careful, she'll try to throw him out of the castle too, just like she did with Professor Trelawney."

McCoy winced in sympathy. That particular episode of the castle's history had not been forgotten in a hurry.

"Hagrid's lessons are a bit...unique," Harry explained finally.

"How unique?" McCoy asked warily.

"He once let Harry ride a Hippogriff, which was bloody brilliant," Ron answered, a grin on his face at the memory, "but Buckbeak – the Hippogriff – 'attacked' Malfoy." He paused to roll his eyes at the end of his explanation before taking a long swig of pumpkin juice. He emerged a second later. "She's probably heard about that by now."

"We've tried convincing him to keep the lessons simple, but he won't listen," Harry said.

"Then there's little we can do," Kirk replied in true regret, "besides trying to stay as safe as possible in his lessons so that Umbridge has no material to use against him."

"Which we should be getting to," Hermione reminded them, standing up and beckoning them to follow.

"But I haven't..."

"Ron," Hermione said patiently, "is your breakfast more important, or Hagrid's job?"

"In an ideal world," Ron argued as he reluctantly stood up and followed them, "I'd have both."

The castle door opened to an eerily white world, spread like a carpet of springy cotton wool before them; it looked almost unreal, as though the scene was in miniature instead of real life. Trees patiently stood with a dusting of snow at their tops, their dead branches bald of the leaves which were customarily there in the summer. Birds looked almost confused as they failed to find their usual prey in the vast white expanses, forced to circle high above instead.

But the most shocking thing of all was the intense cold; a cold which seemed to wrap itself mercilessly around them and cling to their limbs for dear life, as though it was scared to ease its grip and allow the summer warmth to creep slowly back in.

Shivering, they drew their collars up around their necks and shoved their hands deep into the pockets of their robes, their breath creating plumes of mist before them. As they ploughed through the snow, McCoy turned a wary eye to Spock, who was baring the cold stoically, as though he routinely ventured outside in sub-zero temperatures.

"Don't you dare get frostbite," McCoy warned the Vulcan, his gruff voice hiding the concern he felt. "You'll never hear the end of it."

McCoy was slightly surprised to see an eyebrow rise. He had half expected it to be frozen in place, maybe with a few icicles added for good measure. "Of that I have no doubt, Leonard."

"And if you even _contemplate_ getting pneumonia," McCoy continued, "I will personally drown you in hot chocolate and hot water bottles."

"That would not be a wise course of action."

"It'd warm you up," McCoy snapped.

"You would also succeed in intoxicating me."

McCoy felt his own cold forehead contort in confusion. "You get drunk on hot chocolate?"

"I thought that was just a rumour," Kirk butted in.

"It is fact."

"Have you ever tried it?" Kirk asked curiously.

"Negative."

"Not even once?" Kirk persisted mercilessly.

"It never occurred to me, Jim. I had learnt of its effects on Vulcan physiology when I had the misfortune to witness my father partake of large quantities."

"_Sarek_ got drunk?" McCoy repeated incredulously.

"I assure you Leonard that it was unintentional. My mother was unaware of the rumour and neglected to inform my father of the contents of the beverage, which he took a liking to. Unfortunately, the effects were not immediately apparent until he reached the stage of severe intoxication."

Kirk grimaced. "I'm sure that wasn't fun to watch."

Spock nodded in agreement. "It was not. Fortunately, his subsequent actions were not of a violent nature and he caused little harm."

"What do you mean 'little harm'?" McCoy asked, eyes narrowing.

Spock's mouth twitched despite the topic they were discussing. "He would be less than pleased to learn that I have been discussing this."

"Just tell us," McCoy whined, well aware of how petulant he sounded but not really caring.

"My mother's ear drums were never quite the same," Spock said with a very straight face, ignoring everyone's incredulous expressions, "after my father embarked on a rather lengthy recitation of the song 'row row row your boat'."

Kirk blinked, and then promptly burst out laughing. "Like father like son," he finally gasped when he had enough breath to speak.

"I beg your pardon?"

"When I was in the mind meld with your older self," Kirk explained, "I saw a memory of us, around a campfire, singing that song." He grinned wickedly at Spock. "You have a lovely singing voice. Even better than Bones over there."

McCoy promptly threw a snowball at him and Spock looked speechless.

"Don't Vulcans usually sing?" Ron asked suddenly, reminding them that the other three had been listening.

"Never," Kirk said quickly. "Well..." he gave Spock a sly glance, "hardly ever."

Ron made a considering sound. "I must have been thinking of something else..."

"I am certain that you were," Spock said in weary resignation. "As I have stated on a considerable number of occasions, I am in no way related to any creatures of human folklore."

"Not even unicorns," McCoy muttered suddenly, thinking back to the dream he had had after their first day in that universe, where a unicorn had spoken with Spock's voice.

"Leonard?"

McCoy suddenly realised what he said and blushed brightly, all too aware of how silly he had sounded. "Never mind..."

"I do not comprehend how any of my physical features hold similarity to those of a unicorn. Furthermore, a unicorn-"

"I said never mind," McCoy said in a slightly louder voice, feeling slightly relieved when Hagrid's hut loomed into view.

"It doesn't look like Umbridge is here," Hermione said in relief.

"No, but Hagrid's carrying a half dead cow..." Ron muttered. "That can't be a good sign, can it? What if Umbridge hears about it?"

"We'll just have to hope she doesn't," Hermione said as they trundled to a halt before the half-giant, who was standing at the edge of the Forbidden Forest.

"We're workin' in here today! Bit more sheltered! Anyway, they prefer the dark."

"I'm beginning to understand why it's forbidden," McCoy muttered. "He's probably taking us to see vampires."

"Don't be ridiculous," Hermione snorted. "I told you that vampires live nowhere near here."

"Right," McCoy said vaguely, but did not look convinced.

"What prefers the dark?" Malfoy asked in panic. "What did he say prefers the dark – did you hear?"

"He has not yet revealed what he intends to show us," Spock said calmly. "However, I am certain that Professor Hagrid is perfectly capable of preventing any serious injury, should the creatures prove to be overly dangerous."

Malfoy snorted, but was mercifully stopped from saying more when Hagrid began talking again.

"Ready?" Hagrid's voice was cheerful as he beamed around at the class. "Right, well, I've bin savin' a trip inter the Forest fer yer fifth year. Thought we'd go an' see these creatures in their natural habitat. Now, what we're studyin' today is pretty rare, I reckon I'm probably the on'y person in Britain who's managed ter train 'em."

"Reassuring," McCoy muttered cynically, though without any sting to the word.

"And you're sure they're trained, are you?" Malfoy asked in panic. "Only it wouldn't be the first time you'd brought wild stuff to class, would it?"

"'Course they're trained."

"So what happened to your face then?"

"Mind yer own business!" Hagrid said in an uncharacteristically sharp voice. "Now, if yeh've finished asking stupid questions, follow me!"

McCoy groaned as the group of students began to move warily forwards. "Not again..."

"Cheer up, Bones," Kirk said brightly. "At least we're not being chased by a giant spider."

"Didn't you say that last time we went in here?"

Kirk shrugged. "Probably. You can't expect me to remember everything I've said."

"You've been in here before?" Harry asked.

"We arrived here," Spock said.

"And Hagrid let us ride the Thestrals," Kirk added.

"Thestrals?" Harry repeated, looking curious even as Hermione's eyes widened.

"They're difficult to describe," McCoy hedged, not really wanting to remember the episode where Kirk had nearly fallen to his death.

"Do you think Hagrid's showing them to us today?" Ron asked.

"It is possible," Spock agreed.

Several minutes later they reached a tightly packed area of trees where the light was almost vacant from the woods. When Hagrid dropped his cow on the ground and turned to face the students, he met a sea of wary and frightened faces staring back at him, with the sole exceptions of Kirk and Spock.

"Gather roun', gather roun'. Now," he said as they all crept closer to him, "they'll be attracted by the smell o' the meat, but I'm goin' ter give 'em a call anyway, 'cause they'll like ter know it's me."

He immediately turned around and uttered an unearthly shriek which would have, under very different circumstances, have caused many of the students present to break into laughter. Yet no one moved, and no one uttered a sound, some looking too frightened to even breathe. When the Thestrals entered the clearing, McCoy stepped back several paces and swore under his breath.

"Why doesn't Hagrid call again?" Ron asked, eyes still searching the clearing.

"The Thestrals have arrived," Spock stated, nodding his head in the direction that they had come from.

"They're Thestrals?" Harry asked.

"Affirmative."

"They pulled the school carriages!" Harry said in barely restrained excitement. "No one else could see them, and I thought that I was imagining it."

McCoy shook his head. "They're real as can be," he muttered in a type of voice that suggested he wished they weren't.

"Oh, an' here comes another one!" Hagrid called joyously. "Now...put yer hands up, who can see 'em?"

Kirk, Spock, McCoy, Neville and Harry raised their hands, and Hagrid nodded at them. "Yeah...I knew yeh might be able ter see 'em," he commented. "An' you too, Neville, eh? An'-"

"Excuse me," Malfoy interrupted rudely, "but what are we supposed to be seeing?"

Hagrid pointed at the cow carcass on the ground, where the Thestrals were attacking the meat hungrily.

Kirk nudged McCoy in the ribs. "You're lucky you can't see meat disappearing into thin air, Bones."

McCoy scowled at him. "I feel eternally blessed."

"What's doing it?" Someone demanded. "What's eating it?"

"Thestrals. Hogwarts has got a whole herd of 'em in here. Now, who knows-"

"But they're really, really unlucky! They're supposed to bring all sorts of horrible misfortune on people who see them. Professor Trelawney told me once-"

Hagrid chuckled. "No,no,no. Tha's jus' superstition, that is, they aren' unlucky, they're dead clever an' useful! Course, this lot don' get a lot o' work, it's mainly jus' pullin' the school carriages unless Dumbledore's takin' a long journey an' don' want ter Apparate – an' here's another couple, look-"

"Apparate?" McCoy asked blankly.

"A magical form of transport, Leonard," Spock murmured quietly. "It gives the appearance of a wizard or witch vanishing."

McCoy blinked. "You really are a walking dictionary."

"I do endeavour to be useful," Spock quipped back, and McCoy stared at him in surprise, still not quite over the fact that he knew a joking Vulcan.

"Don' worry, it won' hurt yeh," Hagrid was saying. "Righ' now, who can tell me why some o' yeh can see 'em an' some can't?" At Hermione's raised hand, he beamed. "Go on then."

"The only people who can see Thestrals are people who have seen death."

"Tha's exactly right," Hagrid replied as a solemn mood settled over the group. "Ten points ter Gryffindor. Now, Thestrals-"

"_Hem, hem._"

McCoy cast his eyes heavenward. "Fate hates us," he complained.

Slowly, the group turned around to see that Professor Umbridge was standing a few feet away from them, immaculate as ever, and almost blending into the background in an extremely hideously shaded and tailored green suit. Hagrid, however, was clearly confused as to where the voice was coming from, which caused Malfoy to snicker loudly.

"_Hem, hem_," Umbridge repeated impatiently.

Hagrid found her. "Oh, hello!"

Umbridge proceeded to address Hagrid as though he was both deaf and incredibly slow. "You received the note I sent to your cabin this morning? Telling you that I would be inspecting your lesson?"

"Oh, yeah. Glad yeh found the place all righ'! Well, as you can see – or, I dunno – can you? We're doin' Thestrals today-"

Umbridge frowned and pointedly cupped a hand to her ear. "I'm sorry, what did you say?"

McCoy almost growled. "I see what she's doing..."

Kirk placed a warning hand on his forearm. "Leave it be for the moment, Bones. We can't get involved unless necessary."

Hagrid looked genuinely confused, and replied in the same loud voice, flapping his arms in an attempt to get her to understand. "Er – _Thestrals_! Big – er – winged horses, yeh know!"

Umbridge gave a brief sound of surprise and lowered her clipboard so that she could write on it. "_Has...to...resort...to...crude...sign...language._"

Spock opened his mouth, but a warning shake of the head from Kirk stopped him.

"Well...anyway...erm...what was I sayin'?"

"_Appears...to...have...poor...short...term...memory."_ Malfoy snorted at this even as nearly everyone else quivered with rage.

"Oh yeah. Yeah, I was gonna tell yeh how come we got a herd. Yeah, so, we started off with a male an' five females. This one," he patted one, "name o' Tenebrus, he's my special favourite, firs' one born here in the Forest-"

Umbridge loudly interrupted him. "Are you aware that the Ministry of Magic has classified Thestrals as 'dangerous'?"

"Are you aware," Spock repeated, causing Kirk to glare warningly at him, "that it is impossible to inspect a class if you insist upon interrupting it?"

Umbridge turned to him coolly and, if she had been the right height, would surely have looked down her nose at him. "I hardly expect you to understand intelligent and logical methods," she said scathingly, not noticing Kirk's expression turn to one of rage. She turned back to Hagrid and raised her eyebrows expectantly.

"Thestrals aren' dangerous! All righ' they might take a bite outta yeh if yeh really annoy them-"

"_Shows...signs...of...pleasure...at...idea...of...violence._"

"I'll show you pleasure at the idea of violence," McCoy all but growled under his breath.

"That is incorrect," Spock said, ignoring a second warning glance from Kirk. "He merely stated the understandable survival instinct to attack if provoked – something that you have no doubt experienced in abundance."

The class gaped and McCoy resisted the urge to clap. Umbridge had turned red with fury, and was on the verge of snapping her quill, but her voice was still silky smooth and sickeningly sweet.

"One more word out of you, Mister Spock, and you will be punished." She turned back to Hagrid. "Please continue as usual. I am going to walk," she began walking on the spot, "among the students," she jabbed a finger at the circle, "and ask them questions." She actually pointed at her mouth and then proceeded to mime a conversation with thin air.

Malfoy and several other Slytherins were in stitches, but her treatment of Hagrid was causing anger to surface noticeably on many faces.

"He understands what you are saying," Spock said sharply, eyes turning to razor sharp steel. "Simply because you have distracted him from his lesson does not mean that he is incapable of normal speech." The implicit insult to Umbridge was clear as Spock considered her with a raised eyebrow.

Umbridge simmered like a green, frilly saucepan and actually began to shake with rage. "How dare you?"

"It is of little consequence or effort on my part," Spock said calmly.

"That," Umbridge snapped, "was a rhetorical question," she said loudly, looking as though she was going to stamp her foot.

Malfoy was standing behind her, nodding at Spock in encouragement even as the other two Enterprise officers tugged desperately on his cloak in an inconspicuous attempt to get him to shut up.

"I deemed an answer to be necessary. Furthermore, you did not specify its rhetorical nature, but instead allowed your voice to increase in pitch and hysterical nature, thereby showing that your lack of comprehension was of some distress. I sought to rectify the situation."

"Good God," McCoy muttered. "Now I know that he never really argued with me...it's blindingly obvious he was just teasing me now that I can see what he really argues like..."

"Told you," Kirk whispered back.

Umbridge began to gently bob up and down but appeared to have no comment worthy of repeating aloud while still maintaining some semblance of control over the situation. As she stalked sharply past Spock, they saw Malfoy give a brief victorious and amused grin in Spock's direction before he smothered it with his customarily haughty expression.

Kirk sighed and pulled Spock away from the group slightly. "Your defence of Hagrid is inspiring," he said quietly, "but you promised not to get into trouble."

"I surmised that she would be unable to reply."

"I'm not happy with you taking that chance, Spock," Kirk said seriously. "I don't want to see your hand cut open again by that quill, and I don't want us to be removed from the castle."

Spock cocked his head to the side and examined Kirk curiously for a moment or two, as though he was trying to process the fact that someone could care so much for him that they couldn't bear to even see a small wound on the back of his hand. Kirk seemed to sense his thoughts and kept eye contact, allowing the Vulcan to see the truth of the concern lurking deep within the dark orbs.

"I see," Spock finally said. "However, it is unacceptable for her treatment of Professor Hagrid to continue."

"I understand that," Kirk said. "I just ask you to be careful."

"I shall endeavour to do so at the best of my ability, given the circumstances," Spock promised.

"Good," Kirk said, shuffling them both back to the group.

"Er...yeah...good stuff abou' Thestrals," Hagrid was saying desperately. "Well, once they're tamed, like this lot, yeh'll never be lost again. 'Mazin' sense o' direction, jus' tell 'em where yeh want ter go-"

"Assuming they can understand you, of course," Malfoy said maliciously, causing several people to go into more fits of hysterical glee.

"You can see the Thestrals, Longbottom, can you?" Umbridge asked.

Neville nodded, and a tension began to coalesce around the pair.

"Who did you see die?"

"Now wait just a damn minute..." McCoy sputtered, but was beaten to the punch by Spock, who had moved over to the pair and was offering Neville support by his close presence.

"That is hardly an appropriate query for a classroom," he said very, very quietly, posture stiff.

Umbridge's eyes had immediately alighted with curiosity.

"No..." Kirk said in sudden understanding, bracing himself to come to Spock's defence at any moment.

"Who, may I ask," Umbridge said imperiously, "did _you_ see die, Mister Spock?"

The three officers became so still that they could have been statues.

"That is hardly any of your concern."

"You can obviously see them," she continued relentlessly. "Obviously something interesting happened to someone you – dare I say it," she said in disgust, "loved."

At the brief look of hurt in Spock's eyes at the insult, Kirk snapped, swooping in on Umbridge like a bird of prey. "Leave him alone," he said simply, standing very close to the Vulcan.

"Well, this is touching," Umbridge simpered. "A full blood defending a half breed. I would have assumed from your lack of defence of Professor Hagrid that you were of a similar political stance to me."

Kirk allowed disgust to touch his features. "It's my job to punish people like you, who think they can use their power to bully others."

"I am hardly bullying, Kirk. I am conducting a Ministerial investigation."

"In a very petty and immature way," Kirk said angrily. "How do you expect to gain an idea of what he's like as a teacher if you insist upon letting your prejudices get into the way? Any competent person would lay aside their beliefs and be impartial in their judgement."

"One more word out of you two, and I'll have all three of you thrown out of the castle," she said in an unbelievably huge amount of triumph. They had no choice but to be quiet.

"Now," she said, sounding slightly flustered as she turned back to Neville, "what do you think of them?"

Neville had begun to look very nervous once more. "Erm...Well, they're...er...OK..."

"_Students...are...too...intimidated...to...admit...they...are...frightened._"

Kirk, Spock and McCoy looked like they wanted to argue, but were forced to stay quiet and watch how things panned out.

"No! No, I'm not scared of them!"

Umbridge patted Neville on the shoulder and leered freakishly at him. "It's alright," she said as though comforting a baby who had woken up crying in the night. "Well, Hagrid," she had resumed talking in the loud, slow voice. "I think I've got enough to be getting along with. You will receive," again another ridiculous mime, "the results of your inspection," she pointed at her notes, "in ten days' time." She then proceeded to slowly count for him on her stubby fingers. Bustling in a waddling and self satisfied fashion, she left the Forbidden Forest.

For the rest of the lesson, Hagrid attempted to keep his lesson going as smoothly as possible, though his efforts were undermined by the continuous snickering coming from the end of the Slytherins, despite Spock's silent warning looks. Nearly everyone else looked thoroughly upset and angry, and so it was impossible for them to concentrate on anything that Hagrid was saying at all.

Half an hour later, they were making their way back up to the castle, foul tempers evident everywhere. Hermione's was by far the worst, as she proceeded to give them a rant that made McCoy's look like a walk in the park.

"That foul, lying, twisted old gargoyle!" She screeched. "You see what she's up to? It's her thing about half-breeds all over again – she's trying to make out Hagrid's some kind of dim-witted troll, just because he had a giantess for a mother – and oh, it's not fair, that really wasn't a bad lesson at all – I mean, all right, if it had been Blast-Ended Skrewts again, by Thestrals are fine – in fact, for Hagrid, they're really good!"

"Umbridge said they're dangerous," Ron pointed out.

"Well, it's like Hagrid said, they can look after themselves and I suppose a teacher like Grubbly-Plank wouldn't usually show them to us before NEWT level, but, well, they _are_ very interesting, aren't they? The way some people can see them and some can't! I wish I could."

Spock instantly became quiet, and Harry's voice became solemn as he said, "Do you?"

Hermione looked aghast between all of them. "Oh – I'm sorry – no, of course I don't – that was a really stupid thing to say."

"It is, nevertheless, understandable," Spock said.

"I'm surprised so many people _could_ see them," Ron said.

"It comes with the job," Kirk replied grimly. "When you're exploring new worlds, things do tend to go wrong..."

Meanwhile, Malfoy had caught up with them, followed closely by his friends. "Weasley, we were just wondering. D'you reckon if you saw someone snuff it you'd be able to see the Quaffle better?"

Spock stared at him, and they were glad to see Malfoy's eyes widen as he realised what he had just said in front of his fellow Slytherin. He opened his mouth to apologise but Spock gave a brief shake of the head. The three Gryffindor students had missed this entire exchange, and were glaring at Malfoy with pure hatred, but both Kirk and McCoy looked on in interest, not really believing their eyes as they realised that perhaps Malfoy wasn't horrible to everyone.

It was a thought that they never thought they would consider so soon, neither of them having to spend as much time with him as Spock had, but it did help to explain the protectiveness which Spock showed to all the students, even the Slytherins. Obviously, they observed as they saw the Slytherin group move away, talking easily with one another, they were a close knit group; something that only came to pass when they had the whole school to fight against.


	25. Snape, Christmas and Snakes

**25. Snape, Christmas and Snakes. **

"For the third time, I am not going to do it, Albus!"

Snape's irritated voice drifted through the spacious and ancient infrastructure of Hogwarts, mystifying and amusing several half asleep portraits, before finally reaching the three pairs of now curious ears that lurked just around the corner. One eyebrow rose in contemplation, two blue eyes rolled in exasperation and hidden humour, while the last pair twinkled mischievously.

"I wonder what _that's_ about," Kirk muttered.

"Lord knows."

Kirk grinned at the grumpy physician. "Want to find out?"

"I'm not even sure if we should," McCoy grimaced.

Kirk's eyes widened in mock surprise. "Bones! I never knew you were into stuff like that..."

Spock stared at them in confusion, but was ignored as McCoy's icy retort got the better of him.

"You _know_ that's not what they're talking about," he snapped, "so stop being so damn dirty minded."

"I'm only trying to broaden your horizons," Kirk chirped. "You never know, in this crazy universe-"

"Universes," Spock corrected.

"Universes," Kirk amended with a grin at the Vulcan. "Anything could be possible, and imagine the techniques you could use with magic..."

"Jim," McCoy groaned over the babbling captain, "shut up."

"And now you know how I got my reputation," Kirk said to Spock.

The eyebrow took its position, years of perfecting the art of this particular move giving it the grace of an acrobat. "Indeed, although I had already suspected as much."

McCoy snorted. "I didn't even know you knew about rumours like that, at that tender age," he said sarcastically.

The second eyebrow, through complex and energetic but slightly jerky, hesitant movements, was soon having a reunion with the other one. "You as a doctor should be aware of the fact that many species are versed in sexual education from quite an early age," he said seriously, "in order to better prepare them for adulthood when their full mating potential is reached. Furthermore," he continued, ignoring their expressions, "additional research can be carried out should an individual wish to further their knowledge in order to become a more desirable mate."

There was silence.

"Have I said something amusing?" Spock asked, innocent surprise flickering not entirely convincingly across his face.

McCoy narrowed his eyes. "You _have_ been brainwashed."

"As I stated on the first of numerous occasions when that comment has infiltrated conversation," Spock replied dutifully, "the technology of this era is not sufficiently advanced to accommodate such a need as the cleansing of brain matter."

"Not to mention," Kirk added, "that it'd look odd alongside a car wash..."

"You two are insufferable."

"We live to be, Bones."

"I believe that Jim had originally suggested that we discern the reason for the comment behind this conversation," Spock reminded them.

"I didn't know you were one for promoting eavesdropping, Spock," the blond teased.

"It would be more preductive than our current efforts."

"You said it," McCoy agreed.

"Indeed, though your employment of the word 'it' is rather ambiguous."

"Stop being so damn literal," McCoy snapped, "especially on purpose so early in the morning."

"It seems that I neglected to remember your previous comment regarding brain waves and their relevance to time."

McCoy peered at him. "Are you saying that my brain hasn't woken up yet?"

"I am not, Leonard; I am merely repeating a statement which you have made me aware of. However, your lack of memory regarding this would support the theory."

Kirk was going into silent fits of laughter.

"Why do you always have to insult me?" McCoy raged quietly, aware of the other argument around the corner.

Spock blinked sedately at him. "I find the results to be fascinating," he said simply.

McCoy sputtered. "Why not someone else?"

"Because no one else can rant at the smallest thing like you do," Kirk said.

"I don't know what you're talking about!" McCoy said defensively.

"According to the Webster dictionary published precisely two years previously in our own timeline, a 'rant' is defined as 'an overly long monologue punctuated with often random bursts of anger and or indignation, following a distressing situation or event for the individual involved'."

"Don't you ever shut up?" McCoy hissed. "Don't answer that," he added, as Spock opened his mouth to reply. "It's rhetorical."

"Does anyone actually know what the other argument is about?" Kirk asked. "I missed it because of this one..."

"Metaphorically speaking," Spock said, "it is circular in nature."

"Oh, you do _metaphors _now," McCoy muttered acerbically.

"So we haven't missed anything then."

"That is correct."

"Right," Kirk said decisively, glaring at his two friends, "I want to hear this."

"-only every year since I began working here!" Snape was saying sarcastically, clearly audible now that the officers had stopped arguing.

"I haven't asked you every year, Severus."

"The first Christmas hardly counts," Snape snapped, apparently understanding the meaning behind Dumbledore's words when no one else could.

"And quite rightly," Dumbledore replied solemnly.

The three officers, from their hidden position, exchanged meaningful glances.

"I only ask," Dumbledore continued, "that you do this year, Severus. As you know, I do not currently have the time available."

"And my time is obviously of mediocre importance in comparison."

"It is only one room, Severus."

"The Great Hall," Snape replied angrily.

"Admittedly, it also happens to be the largest room, but that is all the more reason for you to start now, before the majority of students wake up."

"The house elves usually complete this inane task."

"I gave them the day off, it is nearing Christmas after all – although they seem to enjoy spending it cleaning the kitchens," Dumbledore mused.

"How convenient."

"Everyone is entitled to a holiday at Christmas, Severus."

"Though apparently one morning of peace and quiet is too much to ask for."

"If you start now," Dumbledore repeated, "you will avoid the usual Saturday morning rush of students. As I understand it, most of them are having a late morning."

They could practically hear Snape scowling. "I am of course permitted to enlist help to make this odious task more bearable?"

"That is a rather Scrooge-like approach," Dumbledore said affably, "but if you think it's absolutely necessary, you may do so. I believe that there are three potential helpers around the corner."

McCoy shot his two companions a panicked look. "How did he know?"

"Because I can hear you," Dumbledore informed them, stepping around the corner with an angry Snape in tow. "These corridors have quite a lot more echo than many people realise."

"Then you knew we were there the whole time?" Kirk asked.

The wizard nodded. "Of course. I am sure that you have overheard our conversation and are probably curious enough to want to know what is going on?"

He received three nods.

"Through much persuasion I have convinced Professor Snape to decorate the Great Hall for Christmas – with some help, of course."

"We'd be delighted," Kirk said immediately, sounding slightly more regal than he'd intended.

"Excellent," Dumbledore replied, beaming at them. "I shall leave you to it – I'm afraid that I have rather a lot of research to be doing."

No one had to ask what type of research this was, and Dumbledore nodded to them with a playful twinkle in his eyes one last time before drifting up the stair case and in the direction of his office.

Kirk clapped his hands together in unmistakable enthusiasm. "Let's get started!"

Snape gave him a steely glare and disappeared into the Great Hall.

"This should be interesting," McCoy muttered as they followed.

"Have you ever celebrated Christmas, Spock?"

"Negative."

"What?" McCoy demanded. "What did you _do_ with your time at the Academy and on the Enterprise?"

"I completed numerous assignments."

McCoy gaped. "I can't believe we never dragged you down to the Christmas party before."

"Didn't your mum celebrate it?" Kirk asked softly. Ahead of them, Snape was rustling through bright boxes, but they had the impression that he was listening.

"She did on occasion insist upon the exchanging of gifts," Spock replied just as quietly, "however she never required decoration in the living areas. In this respect, I have yet to observe the full Christmas tradition."

"The turkey might be a problem," Kirk said wryly.

"Indeed. It is reasonable to assume, however, that there are vegetarian alternatives."

"If not," McCoy said wickedly, "you'll have to live off carrots and potatoes."

"Their nutritional value would be sufficient to sustain me for a satisfactory period of time."

Snape finished his inspection of the boxes and turned around to face them. "We should start now, unless of course you would prefer to decorate a room crammed with excitable students?"

Obediently, they joined him in front of a dubiously large quantity of boxes, each filled to the brim with decorations; the clashing colours somehow appearing beautiful and festive.

Suddenly, a particularly long piece of red tinsel began to snake its way over the top of the box, light glinting off it and making it sparkle as it hung in the air. Wand raised and eyes focused, Snape sent it flying high up, until it had positioned itself near the ceilings.

"Of course," he sneered, "that will be slightly more...difficult without the use of magic."

McCoy eyed the nearest wall and then a box. "Even a human pyramid wouldn't reach that."

"You could try getting it up there using bow and arrow," Kirk teased. "You've always had amazing aim."

"I hit the instructor, who was out of the firing range...or supposed to be."

"Exactly. Amazing aim."

"I will decorate the high areas," Snape interrupted, "since I am able to reach them."

"Logical."

Snape gave the barest of nods in reply before moving away again and sending several decorations flying in different directions. They arranged themselves in a surprisingly tasteful way, cheering the room instantly. Meanwhile, Spock had begun to investigate the contents of one box, and was examining a multicoloured piece of tinsel.

"Curious."

"I think 'weird' is more the right word," McCoy interjected.

"It would be interesting to discover what causes the tinsel to change colour so completely, numerous times."

"What would you do with it, if you found out?" Kirk asked.

"Produce traffic lights that do not require the use of electricity."

"And here I was, thinking that you'd use it to make someone's hair multicoloured," McCoy drawled.

"While that would certainly be a fascinating endeavour, it is by no means the most useful."

"Let's get it up," Kirk chuckled, grabbing one end and helping Spock drape it as high up on the wall as they could both reach.

"I see no Christmas trees," McCoy observed, digging through the box, "except these mini ones." He held up a rather large bauble and peered at it. "And the baubles would definitely not fit..."

"They have been reduced in size," Snape explained, waving a wand wordlessly over the tree in McCoy's hands.

Suddenly, too quickly for McCoy to react, the tree began to expand, its entire growth process spanning the duration of a few seconds. A few blinks later, and McCoy was hidden behind a curtain of prickly Christmas tree branches, his hands clutching the stump of what had once been a sturdy trunk. Snape smirked in satisfaction.

"God damn it!" McCoy tried to bellow, but his voice was muffled by the foliage.

"Surely even you could have predicted the tree's sudden growth spurt, Mr McCoy," Snape said smoothly.

"It's not only that," McCoy said impatiently, "it's the branches. There's one up my nose and a few more that are trying to brush my teeth..."

"Then perhaps you should have put the tree down," Snape sneered.

"You didn't exactly give me a chance," McCoy shot back. "A bit of warning would have been nice."

"What's life without a few surprises Bones?"

"Shut up," the tree-man growled, bristling in the general direction of Kirk.

"If you stop your incessant mutterings," Snape said, "I will be able to help you put the tree down."

"Alright, but do it quickly! I think my fingers are becoming a part of the tree..."

With a sharp flick at the tree, Snape lifted it into the air...and McCoy with it.

"Mr McCoy," Snape practically purred, "your only job is to let go of the tree, nothing else. Not to attempt to fly with it."

"Just put me down!"

Legs wiggling frantically in the air, McCoy pedalled furiously on a bike that didn't exist. A pale face could dimly be seen from within the crowd of green, eyes wide and mouth keeping up a steady stream of curses, almost as though he'd rehearsed them.

"That probably solved the branch up the nose problem," Kirk muttered to Spock.

"Let go of the tree," Snape commanded slowly.

"Are you insane? I'm floating around in mid air; if I let go I'll fall!"

"An outcome which will likely provide us with some much needed peace," Snape conceded, "but which is impossible to attain. I won't drop you."

McCoy's only answer was more roared swearing at this new insult.

"McCoy, I cannot levitate you all day. Believe it or not, this chore does have a deadline and I have other work to finish."

"Leonard," Spock added calmly, "I suggest that you follow Professor Snape's instructions."

"If you think," McCoy snapped, "that I'm going to let go _now_, then you're as mad as he is!"

"You cannot remain there indefinitely," Spock pointed out.

"We'll be here to catch you, Bones."

"How reassuring."

"Just do as he says, Bones."

With a resigned sigh, McCoy released his death grip on the branches and felt himself slipping downwards, but the ground was not beneath his feet as expected. Glaring at the Potions Master, he flapped his arms in outrage, unaware that this only served to make him look like a demented flamingo.

"As you can see," Snape interrupted the preparation for rant, "I have not dropped you. Unfortunately."

"You've made your point! Now put," McCoy flapped, "me down!"

"As you wish," Snape said sarcastically, gradually bringing his wand, and McCoy with it, down to ground level. The doctor stood there, going bright red from outrage.

"All that could have been avoided if you just damn well told me to put the tree down in the first place! Whose idea was it to let a maniac like you teach students?"

"Professor Dumbledore has long considered me to be a highly qualified 'maniac'."

McCoy was obviously surprised at this remark, but decided to let the matter drop. "Let's just finish decorating," he said finally, stomping back to the box, giving Snape's wand a wide berth as he did so.

Several more minutes of decorating passed in silence, until the Great Hall was almost finished with its transformation into a Christmas wonderland. All that remained now was repositioning various items, putting the finishing touches on the trees and enchanting the ceiling.

"I have always wondered," Spock observed as he watched Snape lift a bauble into the air, "at the sensation of flying without a broom."

"Is that a hint?" Snape asked dryly, looking at Spock out of the corner of his eye.

"It would be scientifically interesting."

"If you pick up the angel," Snape pointed, "I shall show you."

"That would be much appreciated," Spock said, stooping to pick up said ornament from the box on the ground.

"Brace yourself."

"_Now_ he does warnings," McCoy muttered irritably.

"Let it go, Bones," Kirk chuckled.

Soon Spock was hovering gently above their heads, relaxed and calm as he surveyed his surrounding and then proceeded to experiment by flipping himself over backwards, turning 360 degrees before coming to a halt. He raised an eyebrow.

"Fascinating."

"You're floating six feet off the ground and that's all you can say?" McCoy demanded.

"There is no alternative thought to vocalise."

"No fear?" McCoy interrogated.

"None."

This resulted in McCoy grumbling under his breath in a seemingly endless list of complaints.

"I am going to move you over to the nearest tree," Snape said. "Once you are at the top you will be able to put down the angel."

"Understood."

McCoy continued to complain as Spock flew in the air behind him, his attention focused solely on Kirk, who was watching the entire scenario with an amused expression.

"Am I really that melodramatic?"

"You wouldn't be the Bones we know and love if you weren't," Kirk replied, one eye fixed on Spock as he continued to drift comically behind McCoy.

"Wonderful," the surgeon sighed.

"It makes everything more interesting."

Behind McCoy, Spock had placed the angel on the top of the tree and was currently floating back to the ground.

"I'm glad it amuses you," McCoy shot back, taking a step backwards, turning around and then finding himself squashed beneath a recently airborne Vulcan.

"Leonard, you have strayed into the landing zone."

"Obviously," McCoy growled. "Now stop jabbering at me and let me up!"

"As you wish," Spock replied, gracefully levering himself off the disgruntled human.

McCoy made a huge show of dusting himself down. "These things always happen to _me_."

"Haven't we been over this?" Kirk frowned playfully.

"Probably," McCoy replied. He surveyed the room in interest. "I didn't know you were such a good decorator, Professor."

Snape scowled. "It is always laid out in a similar fashion."

"As you say, Professor," McCoy replied cheekily.

"I'm sure your house will be less than pleased if I were to deduct points from you."

"What for?"

"Insubordination," Snape said, "and for being, incidentally, annoying."

"I'm just trying to make conversation you pointy eared-" McCoy drew himself up short.

Snape's lip curled. "You were saying?"

"...I'm just so used to Spock saying things like that..."

"Clearly I'm not Spock."

"I know that damn it! It's too early in the morning for this..."

"Maybe your brain needs a reboot," Kirk suggested helpfully.

"Jim is correct, Leonard. Despite your frequent claims to the contrary, your previous error suggests that you do indeed possess, metaphorically speaking of course, a 'default program'."

"Oh shut up," McCoy snapped at the room in general. "Let's just finish the job so that I can have some peace and quiet from magic related accidents."

"Your help is no longer necessary," Snape said. "All that remains is the altering of the enchantment on the ceiling."

"You can do that?" Kirk asked in surprise.

"I may be a professor of Potions, but I am not incompetent when wand-related magic is concerned."

"I just assumed that Professor Dumbledore usually enchanted it..." Kirk said, hasty to correct himself.

"That is usually his responsibility which has, unfortunately, fallen to me."

"How complicated is it?"

"For any competent magician," Snape replied, "it is relatively simple, Mr McCoy."

"Are you going," a sickly sweet voice chimed in from the doorway, "to indulge us with a delightful downfall of snow, or is your usual style of doom and gloom going to apply here too?"

They span around in surprise to see Umbridge shuffling into the room, a disgusting smile plastered across her face as she surveyed the room around them.

"Much as I would relish the opportunity, it is obvious that anything other than nauseatingly fluffy clouds and snow would frighten a large population of the school." Snape gave a special sneer in the direction of the living embodiment of the colour pink before him.

"I am sure that with your..." she looked him up and down, "_skill_, you would be able to work out a way to do it anyway."

Snape glowered at her. "Perhaps," was all he said, his eyes satisfied as Umbridge's smile faltered.

Instead of a direct reply, she waved a hand at the ceiling. "In your own time," she simpered.

Turning his attention to the early morning sky above the room, Snape raised his wand lazily and murmured what sounded like a complex chain of spells under his breath, his wand drifting around to encompass the entire ceiling.

A single snow flake fell.

"Oh dear," Umbridge tittered. "It seems that you were unsuccessful."

But Snape ignored her, instead standing on the spot patiently as more and more white flakes fell, melting away just before the tables.

"Magical dandruff," Kirk joked.

Snape turned his attention back to Umbridge. "A success, I think."

"That is extremely complex magic."

"It is." Snape sounded vaguely self satisfied.

"Are you aware that it may be classified as dangerous?"

Snape's eyes darkened. "Under which premise?"

"Clearly, the Headmaster is using it as a test to show suitable competence to join his secret army."

Snape stared at her for a moment. "That is utterly ridiculous; wizards have been enchanting this very ceiling for decades."

"Professor Dumbledore usually undertakes the task?"

"Yes," Snape replied testily, "but the Headmaster currently is indisposed."

"Indisposed?" Umbridge chirped, looking disgustingly gleeful.

"He is a busy man," Snape snapped, obviously having lost what little patience he had with regards to Umbridge.

"Doing what, I wonder?" The woman mused rhetorically. "Oh this is all too convenient – the Minister will be very pleased to hear of this, very pleased indeed!"

"There is hardly any point in pestering the Minister with such trivialities."

"This is hardly trivial, Professor! This news is positively groundbreaking..." she bustled off, muttering self importantly as she made her way to the owelry, already having forgotten that no one was there to hear her.

"Well?" Snape barked suddenly, eyes flashing, "why are you still standing here? Breakfast is about to begin."

The possibilities of breakfast anytime soon looked doubtful; although the tables were of course there, no other students had yet surfaced. Nevertheless, they followed Snape's instructions and sat down at their respective house tables, waiting patiently until more students arrived.

"Wow," Ron said as a large crowd of Gryffindors entered the hall several minutes later. "This is bloody brilliant!"

"You should thank Professor Snape," Kirk said.

"No way," Ron exclaimed as he stared at the severe man sat glaring at the staff table, "_Snape_ did this?"

"He did," Kirk affirmed, "and we were there to witness it."

"Did he kick up a fuss?" Hermione asked.

"Of course," Kirk replied. "Dumbledore eventually managed to convince him."

"I wish we could have seen that," Harry said wistfully, grinning up at Snape.

"Harry," Hermione hissed, "don't _grin_ at him – he thinks we don't know."

"So?" Harry asked.

Hermione sighed. "Honestly, _boys_...If he knows you know, then he'll think his reputation is in danger and try to strengthen it, mainly by taking it out on you."

"Why does he hate me so much anyway?" Harry complained as the breakfast appeared and everyone began digging in. "I know I look a lot like my Dad, but that's no reason to treat me like dirt."

"Obviously Harry," Hermione said slowly, beginning to glance at the youth nervously, "Snape thinks your Dad did something terrible to him."

"My Dad wasn't like that – you can ask Sirius!"

"I know," Hermione said soothingly, "but all I'm saying is that Snape saw your father differently and is trying to get revenge on you for whatever he thinks James did."

"But it was years ago!" Harry protested.

"Snape's just a vindictive git," Ginny said fiercely. "He could carry a grudge to the end of the Earth."

"Knowing Snape," Ron muttered wryly, "he'd find a way to make it last longer."

Harry snorted and Hermione patted him on the arm. "Don't let it get to you, Harry."

Harry jabbed at his food, making milk slosh alarmingly close to the top of the bowl. "How am I supposed to do that? All I've got left of my Dad are the good memories that others have given me, and Snape's taking all of it away from me!"

"I know, Harry," Hermione replied softly, "but the best revenge against someone like Snape is to cling to those good memories, so that he gets no satisfaction from his hate of your father."

"I've tried that," Harry said heatedly, "and it didn't work."

"Give it another try," Hermione advised. "It's either that or argue with him."

"I'd prefer to argue with an enraged dragon," Harry said derisively.

"Then trying to ignore him is all that you can do."

Harry gave another sceptical snort but did not press the matter, instead allowing the rest of breakfast to be eaten peacefully, washed down with casual conversation.

"Do you know what I've always found odd?" McCoy demanded as they trooped to their quarters to collect their books.

"What, Bones?"

"Snape never once insulted Harry's mother."

Kirk pondered this as they packed their books and made their way to the school library. "That _is_ interesting. Do you have any theories?"

"Only two. Either Snape didn't know Harry's mother enough to insult her, or Harry's mother never did anything to Snape worth insulting her over."

"Besides marrying his arch enemy," Kirk pointed out. "You'd think he'd at least comment on that."

"He may have," McCoy considered, "when we weren't here. Either way, we have no way of knowing why."

"He could have been friends with her," Kirk said suddenly.

"Then we'd have definitely heard a rant about her marriage to Harry's father."

"Like you said, he could have given one already."

"Unless her marriage with him ended their friendship," McCoy finished.

"The only way we'd be able to find that out would be to ask him," Kirk said wryly, "and somehow I can't picture that happening any time soon."

Their speculations waned as they reached the more populated corridors, neither officer wanting to be overheard discussing the reclusive Potions Master.

"Does Spock know we're coming here?" McCoy asked as they entered the library.

"Knowing him," Kirk replied, "he'll be here soon enough."

Sure enough, Spock entered the room only five minutes after Kirk had said this, and joined them at their table, where Harry, Ron and Hermione were also clustered.

"No Slytherin fan club today then Spock?" Kirk teased.

"Negative. They opted to study in the common rom. A few have decided to request the advice of Professor Snape."

"They'll need all the luck they can get," Harry decided, though without much sympathy in his voice.

Ron nodded in agreement. "Snape's not exactly the most understanding man alive."

"Nevertheless he is extremely informative. In addition, the Slytherin students are, according to my observations, on good terms with him."

"All the Slytherins have been," Ron said in disgust. "I can't remember a single one of them not liking him since we started school."

"He _is_ their head of house," Hermione pointed out, not even raising her head from the text book that she was currently buried in.

Ron rolled his eyes. "I don't know why you always defend Snape."

"Someone has to," Hermione said simply, noticing that the librarian was beginning to give them death glares. "We'd better get a move on with this homework."

"Which one are you doing?" McCoy asked.

"Transfigurations."

"Do you understand it?" McCoy sounded vaguely hopeful.

"Yes. Do you need help with it?" Hermione replied, the tone of her voice indicating that she had half expected this to happen.

"That would be great."

"While I'm offering," Hermione said in a slightly resigned tone, "does anyone else need help with anything?"

"Potions," Kirk said automatically.

"Everything," Ron and Harry said in unison.

"But not Defence Against the Dark Arts," Harry added.

Spock, having noticed that Hermione was becoming swamped in responsibility, promptly stepped in. "I am also available to offer my services."

The group quickly divided up into two so that the workload became more bearable for the castle's two resident boffins, but despite this the hours crawled by, and less progress was made than expected. The evening arrived with a collective yawn and Hermione was forced to take over completely as Spock headed to the Quidditch pitch for his team practice.

An hour later and an exhausted and frustrated looking librarian forced them out of the library. Still not finished with their work but determined to finish what they had that evening in order to have the next day off, they migrated to the Gryffindor common room, where they found their usual seats by the fire.

The warm atmosphere combined with the late hour caused the teenagers to drop off to sleep one by one, though Harry and Ron refused to go up to their dormitory and struggled on valiantly for as long as they could manage. Soon, Kirk and McCoy were left to finish they work, moving and writing quietly in order to avoid waking the three slumbering students who were sprawled nearby.

"So for this spell," McCoy whispered, pointing at a name in the text book, "the wand movement is this?" He waved his finger, which was acting as a wand, in the air vaguely.

"No," Kirk said, "it's like this." He performed a completely different sequence of movements.

"Are you sure?"

"Positive."

"Alright," McCoy murmured. "Now I just need to draw it...damn it, what's wrong with _describing_ it?"

"Because virtual instructions are easier to follow."

"Yes, but it takes too long. This isn't an art class!"

"I agree with you on that one," Kirk grimaced. "I was always the worst at art. You were brilliant though."

"I'd have to be; as a medical student, we had a _lot_ of anatomy to draw..."

"I don't envy you..." He grinned wickedly, "or maybe I do."

McCoy rolled his eyes. "It's also one of the only things I was great at during High School," McCoy complained, "along with science."

"You weren't _that_ bad – I've seen your CV."

McCoy gave him a look. "Did you see my French grade?"

"No."

"Exactly. I was so bad that they forced me out of the course. I once asked my teacher if I could borrow his racoon to brush my teeth with."

Kirk chuckled quietly. "What were you trying to say?"

"I was trying to ask him how to say 'tooth brush'."

"Well," Kirk said cheerfully, "you were on the right track – vaguely."

McCoy snorted. "I don't understand how Nyota does it."

"Who knows," Kirk replied. "Did you know that she still won't let me use her first name?"

"You didn't exactly make a very good first impression. Grabbing a woman's breasts and then grinning like a baboon on Prozac during a brawl isn't exactly good."

Kirk grimaced. "I've been working on that. She still hasn't really forgiven me for it, though I think I've made some progress. She doesn't look disgusted when she sees me anymore – but she doesn't look pleased either."

"Maybe she's given up the will to live," McCoy teased. "You're enough to drive anyone round the bend."

"Thank you, Bones. I had no idea you could be so sympathetic."

"No problem."

Harry hissed in his sleep and wiggled around a bit.

"...Is that normal for him?" Kirk asked.

"How the hell do you expect _me_ to know the answer to that?"

"You never know."

"Shut up, Jim."

"No..." Harry moaned, another hiss escaping his throat.

"It sounds like a snake."

"He's having a nightmare," McCoy announced.

They exchanged glances, each knowing what this meant.

"Go and get Spock," McCoy ordered. "I'll stay here with him."

Kirk nodded and slid quickly out the door to the Gryffindor common room, his feet pounding silently on the floor as he sprinted towards the Room of Requirement.

Throwing open the door, his brain dimly noted the fact that it was two in the morning as he snapped on the muggle lights and all but leapt to Spock's bed side, where the Vulcan was already sitting up, alert despite the hour.

"Harry's having a nightmare," Kirk gasped, "we think it's Voldemort."

Wordlessly, Spock got out of bed and made his way to the door, pausing only to don a Vulcan robe to cover his pyjamas, so that he would be protected from the cold.

Sprinting back along the corridor, they arrived at the portrait of the Fat Lady, whom Kirk was about to awaken until he felt Spock's hand lightly touch his forearm. Following his First's lead, Kirk knocked on the portrait door and waited for it to open, allowing them to step inside as McCoy let them in.

"What is his condition?" Spock demanded, falling to his knees before the tossing youth.

"The same as last time – Jim, help me restrain him!"

"I will attempt a mind meld," Spock told them as they held Harry down, "in order to rouse him. If that is not possible, then I will only be capable of shielding him from the onslaught."

"Go ahead," McCoy urged, looking anxious.

Placing his fingers on the meld points, Spock dived into the mind, immediately finding himself wrapped up in a disturbing vision.

Before him, sliding between strange, shimmeringly colourful objects, was the largest snake that Spock had ever seen. The movements of the long body were lithe and agile, speaking of much practice in the art of stealth.

His keen Vulcan eyes caught sight of a man sitting on the floor, clearly asleep, and he wondered for a moment if this figure was Voldemort in an early memory until they drew closer.

The silhouette gained a more defined outline; showing a man whose build and hair colour were vaguely reminiscent of the Weasley siblings.

Spock followed silently behind the snake, this time distancing himself from the vision until he could find Harry, perhaps lurking in a shadowy crevice as Voldemort...

As the snake slithered closer to the man, Spock quickly checked the corridor, noticing with a distant feeling of dread that it was empty aside from the two beings before him.

A sudden suspicion blossoming in his mind like a poisonous flower, Spock darted forwards, too late to stop the snake as it struck, the victim falling to the ground with a sharp cry.

Forcing himself to ignore what he knew was not the physical version of the injured man, Spock stood his ground and looked directly into the snake's eyes, probing them gently, gingerly.

Harry was there.

Thinking quickly, Spock sent his mind further towards the snake, mentally calling out Harry's name as he did so. The cry reverberated off the walls at the same moment as he sensed people in the waking world calling the boy's name.

The snake stopped dead, its surroundings dissolving instantly.

Green eyes from a frightened human face stared, wide and unblinking, into Vulcan ones, and Spock knew that he had succeeded.

"Your dad," Harry gasped, chest heaving, staring straight at Ron. "Your dad's...been attacked..."

Ron went very pale. "What?"

"Your dad," Harry repeated urgently, voice stronger this time. "He's been bitten, it's serious, there was blood everywhere..."

"I'm getting Professor McGonagall," Kirk said decisively. "We're going to need some help if he has been attacked." He quickly disappeared out of the room.

"Harry, mate, you...you were just dreaming..." he sounded as though he desperately wanted to believe those words.

"No, Ron! It wasn't a dream...not an ordinary dream...I was there, I saw it...I _did_ it."

Ron looked taken aback and even more desperate at this last piece of information. "Harry, you're not well..."

"I'm fine!" Harry interrupted. "There's nothing wrong with me, it's your dad you've got to worry about – we need to find out where he is – he's bleeding like mad – I was – it was a huge snake."

"Over here, Professor," Kirk said, opening the door and beckoning McGonagall in.

McGonagall, in her dressing gown and with slightly rumpled hair, swept efficiently into the room, her usually severe expression softened by concern. "What is it, Potter? Where does it hurt?"

"It's Ron's dad," Harry explained impatiently. "He's been attacked by a snake and it's serious. I saw it happen."

"What do you mean, you saw it happen?"

"I don't know...I was asleep and then I was there..."

"You mean you dreamed this?"

"There could be a man dying out there!" McCoy snapped, jabbing his finger at the door. "Why are we wasting time arguing about it?"

"Professor," Spock interrupted, "I can confirm Mr Potter's vision. As a natural telepath, I can inform you that this was indeed contact with another mind and not a dream."

McGonagall looked horrified and vaguely surprised.

"I'm not lying and I'm not mad!" Harry added for good measure, though it was apparent to everyone that the professor had been persuaded.

"I believe you, Potter," McGonagall said brusquely. "Get ready, all of you, we're going to see the headmaster."


	26. St Mungo's

**26. St Mungo's. **

There was a moment's brief silence as everyone digested this command, and then a flurry of activity as they all headed for the portrait door.

The rest of the castle was eerily quiet as they made their way through the corridors, reinforcing the sense of urgency that seemed to permeate the very air around them. McGonagall's stride was quick but silent as she led the way to Dumbledore's office, glancing neither left nor right as her single minded determination led her towards help.

Ron walked alongside Harry and Hermione; all three of them looked grim, but Ron doubly so. They could see from his terrified expression that he was imagining the worst based on Harry's descriptions – which were of course undeniably reliable.

Judging from the vision, they didn't have much time.

"Fizzing Whizzbee," McGonagall said as they approached the stone gargoyle, who leapt aside immediately to grant them entrance.

From inside the room, they could hear dozens of voices speaking at once, as though Dumbledore had somehow managed to invite a large host of people to the school at such an early hour in the morning. Yet when they opened the door, the portraits were stock still and appeared to be asleep, though some snores were unconvincing.

Professor Dumbledore himself sat behind the usual desk, as though he had just been working, despite the fact that he was in a dressing gown. A few members of the entourage assembled began to question whether the man slept at all.

"Oh, it's you, Professor McGonagall...and..._ah_."

"Professor Dumbledore," the witch said without preamble, "Potter has had a...well, a nightmare."

"It wasn't a nightmare," Harry said defensively.

"We believe," Spock added, "that he has recently been telepathically contacted by Voldemort."

Dumbledore sat forward and peered at Harry in interest.

"I..." Harry began uncertainly, aware of the eyes upon him, "well, I _was_ asleep...But it was no ordinary dream. It was real...I saw it happen...Ron's dad – Mr Weasley – has been attacked by a giant snake."

There was a pregnant pause.

Until, predictably, McCoy exploded again. "Does no one in this universe understand what an emergency is? We need to find him _now_!"

"Arthur is seriously injured?" Dumbledore asked the room at large.

All portraits seemed to strain to hear the conversation despite their closed eyes. No one was snoring now.

"_Yes_," Harry repeated urgently.

Dumbledore stood up quickly and crossed the room until he was facing two portraits. "Everard? And you too, Dilys!"

Supposedly sleep closed eyes opened immediately.

"You were listening?" Dumbledore asked.

"Naturally."

"The man has red hair and glasses," Dumbledore replied. "Everard, you will need to raise the alarm, make sure he is found by the right people-"

"I hate to say it," McCoy murmured, "but for once I think a transporter would be useful."

"Everard and Dilys were two of Hogwarts' most celebrated Heads," Dumbledore told them, approaching a magnificent looking bird. "Their renown is such that both have portraits hanging in other important wizarding institutions. As they are free to move between their own portraits, they can tell us what may be happening elsewhere..."

"But Mr Weasley could be anywhere!" Harry protested.

Dumbledore conjured up some extra chairs. "Sit down, all of you," he said, completely ignoring Harry's recent outburst. "Everard and Dilys may not be back for several minutes."

Dumbledore turned back to the magnificent bird. "We will need," he said quietly, "a warning."

With a flash the phoenix disappeared, leaving many mystified pairs of eyes staring after it.

As Dumbledore began fiddling around with an ornate silver box which showed a snake's head in green smoke, McCoy shifted restlessly.

"He'll need a medic _now_ not later!"

"You have no tools or way of getting there," Kirk pointed out.

"There must be some kind of fast transport in this universe," McCoy muttered. "Even if I was forced to ride a turbo-broom to get to him, I would."

Meanwhile Everard had reappeared in his portrait, panting as though he had just run a great distance. "Dumbledore!"

"What news?"

"I yelled until someone came running, said I'd heard something moving downstairs – they weren't sure whether to believe me but went down to check – you know there are no portraits down there to watch from. Anyway," the wizard continued at Dumbledore's nod, "they carried him up a few minutes later. He doesn't look too good, he's covered in blood, I ran along to Elfrida Cragg's portrait to get a better view as they left-"

"Good," Dumbledore interrupted, aware of Ron's jerky reaction to this. "I take it Dilys will have seen him arrive, then-"

As if having heard him speaking, the witch reappeared in her frame. "Yes, they've taken him to St Mungo's, Dumbledore...they carried him past my portrait...he looks bad..."

"Thank you," Dumbledore said, and turned back to the anxious group. "Minerva, I need you to go and wake the other Weasley children."

"Of course..." McGonagall left swiftly, dressing gown billowing behind her and then moving out of sight as the door closed.

Dumbledore moved over to yet another portrait. "Phineas." There was no response. "_Phineas_." The man in the portrait stirred but did not answer. _"PHINEAS!_"

He gave an overdramatic jerk and spluttered about a bit. "What? Did someone call?"

"I need you to visit your other portrait again, Phineas. I've got another message."

"My other portrait? Oh, no, Dumbledore, I am too tired tonight."

"You're a _portrait_," McCoy snarled. "How in blue blazes can you be tired?"

"We are honour-bound to give service to the present Headmaster of Hogwarts!" A portrait cried, glaring at the unhelpful man. "Shame on you, Phineas!"

"Shall I persuade him, Dumbledore?" Another portrait growled, raising his wand in menace.

"Oh very _well_," Phineas snapped, "though he may well have destroyed the picture by now, he's done away with most of my family-"

"Sirius knows not to destroy your portrait," Dumbledore assured him. "You are to give him the message that Arthur Weasley has been gravely injured and that his wife – who no doubt knows by now due to her clock – children, Harry Potter and these three gentlemen will be arriving at his house shortly. Do you understand?"

"Yes, yes," the wizard replied in a bored voice. "Very well..." he slowly slouched away, looking untroubled by the night's events.

Phineas had just disappeared from the portrait when the office door burst open to admit the rest of the Weasley siblings, led by Professor McGonagall. All of them looked haggard and pale, their eyes wide with the news of their father's accident.

"Harry," Ginny immediately pounced, "what's going on? Professor McGonagall says you saw Dad get hurt-"

"Your father has been injured in the course of his work for the Order of the Phoenix," Dumbledore intervened. "He has been taken to St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. I am sending you back to Sirius' house, which is much more convenient for the hospital than The Burrow. You will meet your mother there."

"Are we going by Floo?" Ginny asked.

"Floo is too dangerous – the network is being watched. You will be travelling by Portkey," he indicated a bottle on his desk. "We are just waiting for Phineas Nigellus to report back...I want to be sure the coast is clear before sending you-"

A flash of flame exploded in the exact centre of the office, leaving behind a single golden feather which floated into Dumbledore's waiting grasp.

"It is Fawkes' warning. Professor Umbridge must know you're out of your beds...Minerva, go and head her off – tell her any story-"

McGonagall hurriedly obeyed.

"He said he'd be delighted," Phineas said in a bored voice. "My great-great-grandson has always had an odd choice in house-guests."

Dumbledore spared him a quick nod before turning his gaze back to the gathered group. "Come here, then, before anyone else joins us."

They all gathered wordlessly around Dumbledore's desk.

"You have all used a Portkey before?" He asked the students, who nodded. Satisfied, he turned swiftly to the three officers. "I am afraid that this will seem rather strange to you, but there is unfortunately no time for proper explanations. You must simply make sure that you are all touching the kettle."

McCoy eyed it dubiously. "It won't shrink us and suck us inside it when we touch it...will it?"

Dumbledore's mouth twitched ever so slightly, but the situation stopped him from the twinkling smile that he would otherwise have given. "Of course not, my dear doctor, but for safety purposes I do recommend that you hold on tightly."

"I'm not going to like this," McCoy complained, warily poking the object before him and then letting his finger settle there self consciously.

"How are we supposed to 'hold on tightly' if there is nothing to hold onto?" Kirk asked, pressing his finger next to Spock's.

"All shall become clear shortly," Dumbledore replied. "Now, before you leave, you must know where exactly you are going, since I believe you have not already been privy to that information."

"That is correct," Spock replied.

"Your destination," Dumbledore continued mysteriously, "is Number 12 Grimmauld Place. Unfortunately," he added when he saw Kirk's mouth open, "we do not have time for more discussion. Now," he turned to address the rest of the group, "are you all ready? Good. On the count of three, then...one...two..."

McCoy squeezed his eyes shut and started muttering something about exploding kettles and foolishness under his breath. Kirk looked torn between excitement and wariness, his blue eyes staring widely at the smooth surface beneath his fingers as though he was trying to see through it. Spock was the very picture of calm, only his glittering brown gaze betraying his insatiable curiosity and thirst for knowledge as he too stared at the innocent looking object.

"..._three._"

There was a loud and collective gasp as everyone experienced a powerful jerk right behind their navel, almost as though a fish hook was piercing them through the skin and yanking them forwards.

Seconds later and the ground abruptly disappeared, leaving them floating helplessly in crushing blackness, jostling each other as the kettle dragged them on a mercilessly bumpy ride that seemed to journey past infinity.

McCoy reflexively tried to tug his hand free, but found that it was glued to the kettle. Panic closed in on him as he realised that he wouldn't be able to control his inevitable fall, and he couldn't see...couldn't move...

There was a painfully audible thud as several bodies slammed into the ground at once, all of them falling to the floor after knees buckled with the impact.

"Back again!" A voice croaked from nearby. "The blood-traitor brats. Is it true their father's dying?"

"OUT!" Someone roared in fury at the rough voice. They all looked up to see a curiously small and wrinkled creature shuffling out of the room, glaring as he readjusted his filthy loincloth and closed the door less than quietly.

"...Ok," McCoy murmured, staring after it.

"He is a house-elf," Spock informed him.

"That...doesn't really help me all that much, but never mind."

"What's going on?" A man asked as he began helping the students to their feet. His clothes and hair were rumpled as though he had fallen asleep at daytime and had just woken up, eyes bleary and smelling slightly of alcohol. "Phineas Nigellus said Arthur's been badly injured-" He broke off as he caught sight of Spock's clothes, which had a Slytherin emblem on them. "What are you doing here?" He demanded.

"I am accompanying-"

"No you're not."

Spock allowed an eyebrow to rise. "It would appear that I am."

"No Slytherin," the man growled, "is allowed in this house. Not anymore."

"I hardly see reason to mistrust the Slytherin House."

"Oh really," the man said sarcastically. "Do you _honestly_ think," he asked, advancing on Spock, "that you can worm your way out of this one, snake? Trust me, I know what Slytherins-"

"Sirius," Harry interrupted calmly, "he's with me – we can trust him."

"Harry, I know _exactly _what these..._people_ are like, and I won't let you-"

"Sirius," Harry interrupted, voice slightly stricter, "he's with me. We can trust him – he's the one who helps control my visions."

"That's probably why you keep having them," Sirius spat.

"Why should I endeavour to continue Mr Potter's visions?" Spock asked in bewilderment. "That is hardly a logical course of action."

Sirius eyed him with malice. "You put up a good act, Snake, I'll give you that, but I'm sure there's plenty of _venom_ just waiting for the opportunity to strike back."

"If we're going to have this argument," Kirk said wearily, "let's have it later. We have more important things to worry about."

"And you are?"

"I'm Jim Kirk and this is Leonard McCoy. That," he added pointedly, "is Spock."

"This is Sirius Black," Harry muttered when Sirius said nothing in return but stared at Spock as though he was a particularly repugnant insect. "He's my Godfather."

"Perhaps," Spock interjected, "it would be wise to formally introduce everybody under more appropriate circumstances?"

Sirius glared at Spock for a few more moments before finally relenting, albeit reluctantly. "Alright," he snapped, "what happened?"

"Ask Harry," Fred replied wearily.

"Yeah, I want to hear this for myself," George added, staring straight at Harry and making no effort to hide his curiosity at all.

"It was – I had a – a kind of – vision..." He trailed off at the sceptical looks he received from those who had not yet heard the story.

"As a telepath," Spock stated for the second time that evening, "I can assure you that he speaks the truth."

"Well isn't that a novelty," Sirius snorted. "A Slytherin supporting a Gryffindor..."

"Either shut up and listen," McCoy growled, "or I'll shut you up. Either way, this is an emergency and you'd do better to learn as much as you can instead of bickering like a school boy!"

Sirius stared at him but offered no reply, apparently seeing the logic in this though he didn't appear to like being told what to do in his own home.

"Go on, Harry," Kirk said quietly after the outburst had finished, offering him a small, supportive smile.

Slowly, haltingly, Harry repeated what he had witnessed, careful not to mention what had felt like a direct involvement with the snake. As he drew further and further into the vision, the stares grew harder and more intense, the words being drunk in with increasingly alarmed expressions.

"Is Mum here?" Fred finally asked Sirius.

"She probably doesn't even know what's happened yet. The important thing was to get you away before Umbridge could interfere. I expect Dumbledore's letting Molly know now."

"We've got to get to St Mungo's," Ginny said decisively, looking around at her friends' night attire. "Sirius, could you lend us cloaks or anything?"

"Hang on, you can't just go tearing off to St Mungo's," Sirius told them.

"Course we can go to St Mungo's if we want," Fred retorted stubbornly. "He's our Dad!"

"Mister Black is correct," Spock interjected. "It is impossible to leave at this moment; it would appear suspicious as you have not yet been formally informed."

"And you'd know all about suspicion," Sirius muttered.

"Not to mention," McCoy added, ignoring Sirius, "that the medics would be busy working on him and wouldn't let you in until they were sure he was stable."

"Or dead!" George said angrily. "What does this matter? We can at least be there-"

"-Out of the way-" Fred added.

"-For moral support," George finished. "Dad needs us there."

"We don't want to draw attention to the fact that Harry is having visions of things that are happening hundreds of miles away!" Sirius said angrily. "Have you any idea what the Ministry would make of that information?"

"You'd never hear the end of it," Kirk added. "You haven't seen the press go crazy until they really _do_ go crazy."

"Someone else could have told us," Ginny suggested. "We could have heard it somewhere other than Harry."

"Like who?" Sirius demanded. "Look, your dad's been hurt while on duty for the Order and the circumstances are fishy enough without his children knowing about it seconds after it happened, you could seriously damage the Order's-"

"We don't care about the damn Order!" Fred shouted.

"It's our dad dying we're talking about!" George bellowed, equally as enraged as his twin.

"Your father," Sirius shot back, "knew what he was getting into and he won't be thanking you for messing things up for the Order! This is how it is – this is why you're not in the Order – you don't understand – there are things worth dying for!"

"Easy for you to say, stuck here!" Fred bellowed. "I don't see you risking your neck!"

"Think about what you're saying," Kirk implored. "You told us that Sirius is in hiding – he'd be killed too if he even _appeared_ in public. Are you trying to attack him for staying safe?"

"You _told_ them?" Sirius suddenly roared, glaring at each of them in turn.

"They're involved in this," Ron spat, "what do you expect?"

"You can't just go around telling everyone," Sirius snapped, "you don't know what they'll choose to do with that information. They could be Death Eaters for all you know!"

"Mister Black," Spock said calmly, "I assure you that we are trustworthy."

Sirius snorted.

"Show him your arm, Spock," Kirk ordered.

Spock obediently yanked up the sleeve to his left arm, revealing pale skin where green blood flowed, tingeing it a slightly different colour to that of a human. "As you can see," he said calmly, "I am extremely unlikely to betray you."

"You don't need a Mark to be on _His_ side!" Sirius continued belligerently. "I've known..." he suddenly cut himself off and started his statement again. "I'd be out there fighting with everyone else if I could, if that _rat_ Pettigrew and people like _him_," he jabbed a hand in Spock's direction, "hadn't put me where I am today. But I have no choice."

There was silence, but the twins were still glaring daggers at Sirius.

"I know it's hard," Sirius sighed after a few moments, "but we've all got to act as though we don't know anything yet. We've got to stay put, at least until we hear from your mother, alright?"

Everyone sat down, albeit reluctantly. Fred and George were still glaring from either side of Ginny, who looked shell shocked and dazed.

"That's right," Sirius encouraged. "Come on, let's all...let's all have a drink while we're waiting."

Spock opened his mouth with a look on his face suggesting that he was about to tell them exactly what he thought of this idea, but at Kirk's subtle shake of the head he restrained himself and accepted a cup, glancing at it dubiously before taking a small and delicate sip.

Everyone fell silent as they contemplated the fate of Arthur Weasley and the puzzling role of the snake in Harry's vision. It was obvious from everyone's alternately confused and concerned expressions that this would not be forgotten in a hurry, especially with Arthur's condition remaining unknown.

Sirius continued to stare across the room at Spock and did not deign to even talk to the Vulcan directly, or even go near him unless he could help it. Spock for his part remained stoically impassive, meeting Sirius' rash hate with cool and logical fact. Harry glanced helplessly between the two, the divide clear upon his face. On the one hand, he had begun to grow slightly closer to Spock after the detentions and mind melds, but there was a deeper sense of loyalty to Sirius, his last living relative aside from the Dursleys. Needless to say, the atmosphere soon became tense.

Almost as though Fate could read everyone's thoughts, a flash lit up the room and a single scroll along with a golden feather fell onto the table.

Sirius snatched it up. "Fawkes! That's not Dumbledore's writing – it must be from your mother – here..."

George snatched the parchment, tugged it open and began to read aloud. "_Dad is still alive. I am setting out for St Mungo's now. Stay where you are. I will send news as soon as I can._"

He looked slowly around the table. "Still alive...but that makes it sound..." he didn't finish.

Ron blanched and swallowed convulsively, his eyes devoid of the humour which usually resided there. The twins had turned to sombre statues, the letter dangling from George's hand as though his fingers could not bear to hold its weight. Ginny sat between them, eyes dry but hands trembling, obviously trying to keep her composure for the sake of everyone involved.

Harry sat to the side and slightly away from Ron, as though he couldn't bear to be so close to someone whose father he had just seen almost murdered by his own hand. His eyes travelled listlessly back and forth as though silently replaying the vision in his head, trapped forever inside the cold, unrelenting skull as it struck a man he respected. With this new news, all worries of the conflict between Spock and Sirius had been forgotten.

The three officers sat deadly still, each of them understanding – remembering – the emotions that accompanied such a traumatic intermission. They had each been in this position when one or the other had been lying motionless in sick bay, the beep of the machines around them the only thing that stopped them from slipping quietly into death. Yet they had always come back, had always lived to fight another day.

They could only hope that Arthur Weasley would do the same.

No one talked but to discuss the outcome, though the stilted conversation swiftly died out after this point. The rest of the time the room was eerily quiet; so much so that every movement seemed to echo around and through the furniture.

Shadows slowly crept across the room, fingering Fred's sleep lolled head with an almost hidden menace. Light illuminated Ron's pale and hunched features, his face impossible to see from behind the barriers his hands had created.

The seconds trickled by like days, years. Everyone had aged indeterminably – it was impossible to know what hour of the day it was, or even remember which day. If it wasn't for the ever increasing shadows and puffs of breath as others began to fall into an uneasy dose, time could have stopped.

A door creaked open, the sound so incongruous to the setting that it was enough to set the routine of time pulsing again. A pale but wanly smiling Mrs Weasley shuffled into the room, looking exhausted but mercifully relieved.

"He's going to be alright," she said softly, as though saying it so quietly would prevent it from being proven wrong. Hope, shrouded and almost crippled by exhaustion and shock, danced almost imperceptibly in her voice.

"He's sleeping," she continued. "We can all go and see him later. Bill's sitting with him now; he's going to take the morning off work."

"Thank God," McCoy breathed, breaking the silent spell that everyone else had been locked in. Mrs Weasley looked at him curiously, obviously not recognising him. "Leonard McCoy, ma'am. This is Jim Kirk and Spock."

"A Slytherin..."

"Good God man not this again!" McCoy snapped.

Mrs Weasley shot a stern glance at the sulking godfather. "I've heard about your arrival," she said, turning back to the officers. "It was the first thing that everyone wrote in their letters...it seems you're quite a novelty at Hogwarts."

Sirius snorted and shot a glance at Spock's ears. "No doubt about _that_."

"Well," Mrs Weasley chirped with forced cheerfulness, "I'm starving." She looked pointedly at Sirius.

"Breakfast!" Sirius bellowed half heartedly above the excited murmurings, jumping from his slouched position and walking towards the door. "Where's that accursed house-elf? Kreacher! KREACHER!"

There was no answer.

"That can't be good," McCoy muttered.

"Oh forget it then," Sirius grumbled, not hearing the physician. "So, it's breakfast for everyone...bacon and eggs, I think-"

"Spock's a vegetarian," Kirk interrupted since Spock had not said anything.

"You can trust him to be difficult," McCoy added, hoping to lighten the tense mood.

"I am hardly able to alter my dietary requirements to adhere to your personal preferences, Leonard."

"One cereal and toast then," Sirius snapped to anyone was listening, walking out to the kitchen.

Mrs Weasley strode over to Harry and in one swift movement had him trapped in a stifling embrace. "I don't know what would have happened if it hadn't been for you, Harry," she gushed.

From what little they could see of Harry's face, they noticed embarrassment and guilt.

"They might not have found Arthur for hours, and then it would have been too late, but thanks to you he's alive and Dumbledore's been able to think up a good cover story for Arthur being where he was...you've no idea what trouble he would have been in otherwise," she rambled, "look at poor Sturgis..."

She finally released her strangle hold on Harry and instead unleashed her enthusiastic gratitude upon Sirius, who smiled and accepted it gracefully.

"Are you alright?" Kirk asked quietly.

Harry nodded, but studiously avoided the older man's eyes. "It was just..." he waved his hand lamely in the air before letting it fall back to his side in defeat. He turned instead to watch the happy celebration in the room, a mix of pain and relief washing over his features.

"You were not responsible," Spock said gently, his keen hearing having allowed him to overhear the exchange.

"You saw what happened in my mind," Harry said miserably. "It was me – _I_ did it."

Spock shook his head in negation. "That is incorrect, Harry." At the soft use of his first name, Harry looked up in silent shock. "The snake was in a completely separate location."

"But I was there...I-"

"You were," Spock said, "and that is the distinction. You were there, but not responsible. You had no control over the actions of the snake – if you had, you would have not allowed it to cause Mr Weasley injury. You were merely a spectator."

"I could still have stopped it," Harry argued, "I saw it all, I knew it would happen..."

"You did not possess the ability. Substantial psychic energy is required to control another living being over such an extensive distance. In its untrained state, your mind reacted the only way possible – it awoke."

"Letting you warn us and save Arthur's life," Kirk added.

"No other course of actions was available to you," Spock finished. "Considering the circumstances, it is my belief that you performed admirably."

"Don't say that," Harry whispered painfully.

Kirk laid a tentative hand on the boy's tense shoulder. "Harry, it's natural for you to feel guilty, but you're not. You could have just as easily ignored the dream."

Harry stared at him in undeniable horror.

"Exactly," Kirk said. "You didn't. Instead, you helped him – saved his life. Mrs Weasley is right; without you, Arthur would be dead right now."

Harry did not look entirely convinced, but they were relieved to see that at least some of the tension and guilt had eased from him. Only time could tell whether or not he would realise that he had done the right thing.

Everyone soon drifted into a well fed and relieved sleep, though both Harry and Spock were a notable exception to this rule. Harry could be seen by the light of the window, sitting hunched over and staring at the blanket in his lap, eyebrows furrowed as he went over what Kirk and Spock had told him earlier.

Spock by contrast appeared to be watching the sky through the thin curtains, his gaze remaining fixed in one place, as though he could see Voldemort from the planet and work out what the evil wizard would do next. Once or twice he broke his stupor and allowed his gaze to drift consideringly over to Harry, who never moved.

When everyone eventually awoke, Harry seemed to shake himself and stretch, yawning in a convincing display of sleepiness. McCoy eyed him in suspicion, seeing right through the ruse, but knowing that it would only add to the boy's turmoil to ask him to repeat his thoughts out loud.

Shaking out their sleep deadened limbs, they all trooped over to recently arrived Hogwarts trunks, which thankfully provided everybody with clean clothes. Clearly, Dumbledore had been thinking ahead.

McCoy sighed in contentment as he laid his robes on a nearby chair and slouched around the room in comfortable Muggle clothes. "_Much_ better..."

"What's wrong with robes?" Kirk asked innocently.

"They're worse than our damn dress uniforms, Jim. I feel like a bat with its neck in a cast."

"You should see dress robes then," Fred said helpfully.

"They're ten times worse than normal ones," George added.

"Especially if you have to dress in pink frilly ones," Fred snickered.

Ron went bright red. "You said you'd stop mentioning that!"

"No can do little bro."

"It's just too funny," George added.

"We want it to go down in history," Fred said.

"I see no logic in attaching pink frills to a robe intended for a male."

"I'm pretty sure they weren't for men," Ron muttered savagely.

"Then for what purpose did you, a male student, purchase them?"

"I didn't," Ron answered. "My Mum did."

"I thought they were lovely," Mrs Weasley interjected.

"They brought out the colour of your cheeks, Ronald," Fred mimicked, receiving an admonishing look from his mother.

"That's quite enough."

"Aw Mum, we were only joking," George said.

"I should have donated them to Umbridge," Ron muttered miserably. "At least she likes pink..."

Mrs Weasley pursed her lips at him. "Perhaps if you'd agreed to come shopping with me," she said pointedly, "this would never have happened."

"I think he's learned his lesson, Mum," George said wickedly.

"Never again," Ron groaned, to everyone's amusement.

"I feel for you," McCoy chuckled, "I really do."

The front door thumped open loudly and a sudden shrieking made them all jump.

"MOODBLOODS AND FILTHY BLOOD TRAITORS!"

"What?" McCoy bellowed over the noise.

"I have no idea..." Kirk mouthed.

"DIRTY SCUM BLEMISHING THE HOUSE OF MY ANCESTORS! HOW _DARE_ YOU EVEN SET FOOT IN THIS HOUSE?"

"I told you to be quiet when you come in the front door!" Sirius bawled over the enraged howling.

"I couldn't exactly be seen out there!" A voice yelled back. "Constant vigilance-"

"MOODY!" Everyone chorused.

"...WHAT?" McCoy repeated.

"We'll explain when Mrs Black has calmed down a bit..." Harry roared.

"Mrs Black is here? Why didn't she say so?" McCoy asked.

"It's a bit hard when you're dead."

McCoy stared at George as though he was insane.

"...AFTER ALL THE WORK I DID TO BUILD UP THIS FAMILY'S REPUTATION! MY GOOD FOR NOTHING FILTHY SON BRINGS HOME BLOOD TRAITORS; IF YOUR FATHER COULD SEE THIS HE'D BE SPINNING IN HIS GRAVE!"

"I believe," Spock said, totally straight faced, "that she is slightly vexed."

McCoy rolled his eyes. "You don't say."

"-YOU _DARE_ CLOSE THAT CURTAIN ON ME! I'M NOT FINISHED WITH YOU-"

There was an abrupt and sudden silence.

McCoy rubbed his ears and shook his head. "I think I've gone deaf."

"I beg your pardon, Leonard?"

"Very funny," McCoy snapped.

Spock frowned at him. "It would appear that my ears have been temporarily damaged by the incessant screaming."

McCoy swore. "Damn, your ears are more sensitive. Come over here," he ordered, dragging Spock into a light and not really giving him any choice in the matter, "and let me have a look at them."

"How do you propose to do so with no medical equipment?"

"...Damn."

Moody focussed his swivelling eye on Spock warily. "You have pointed ears," he stated.

"That is correct," Spock said loudly.

"Why?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"_Why_," Moody growled, "do you have pointed ears?"

Spock stared at him. "I apologise-"

"Don't tell me you can't hear me boy!" Moody roared.

"I think he can now," Ron muttered.

"I can at this moment in time, however the task was difficult when you insisted upon growling," Spock replied, still speaking loudly enough to be addressing someone down the street.

"You don't need to shout." Spock didn't reply, so Moody sighed and rolled his good eye, saying his next words loudly and clearly. "Why have you got pointed ears?"

"I was born with them. They are a typical feature of my race."

"Which is?"

"Vulcan."

"A what?"

"A Vulcan," Spock replied, frowning. "Is the volume of my speech unsatisfactory?"

"It's a bit _too_ satisfactory," Moody growled. "Oh never mind..." he said when he realised Spock hadn't heard him. "I'll ask your two friends here for the information I need, since obviously you're deaf as a bat."

"That is a common misconception," Spock pointed out loudly. "Bats are in fact not deaf as they navigate using sonar which, quite evidently, requires the capacity to-"

"Right," Moody said loudly, "maybe you'll be able to tell me who or what a Vulcan is?"

"A Vulcan," Kirk replied, "is a member of a race from the planet Vulcan."

"He's an alien?" Moody demanded suspiciously.

"In effect, yes."

"I'll have to ask Dumbledore to verify that."

"Of course," Kirk replied, "but perhaps we should do this later? We have to get to the hospital after all."

"Are you trying to side track me, boy?" Moody demanded.

"Alastor," Sirius chuckled, "this can wait until we have a spare moment."

Moody hesitated, but then stomped over to Spock and belligerently shoved a finger into the Vulcan's face. "Don't think I've forgotten about you," he growled, eye whizzing madly.

"Understood," Spock replied at normal volume, his ears having apparently recovered.

"Is your eye supposed to do that?" McCoy asked warily.

Moody eyed him and McCoy winced. "Why else would I have it?"

"It lets him see through things," Sirius explained. "Really valuable in the field. He's an ex-Auror."

"Alastor Moody," the man said, thumping his strange bowler hat back onto his head, tilting it so that it would cover his eye.

"...Pleased to meet you," McCoy said, still wary.

"I'm James T Kirk, this is Mister Spock and Doctor McCoy."

"A Doctor?" Moody boomed. "Tell me – do you still cut people open?"

"No! Well...not as barbarically as people these days do."

"They're from the future," Harry explained.

Moody stared at them dubiously. "I see," he said finally, not sounding like he saw at all.

"It is true," Spock said calmly.

"IDIOT GIRL!" The voice suddenly shrieked again.

"Tonks has arrived," Moody said wryly as they heard a clatter as something fell over. "That girl needs to learn stealth. In this day and age that type of mistake can get you killed. The competence of these training courses, I don't know..." He stomped off into the hallway muttering to himself.

"I'm sorry!" A female voice shouted to anyone who was able to hear over the shrieks. "I didn't mean to – that one always seems to trip me over..."

"BUMBLING FOOL!"

"This might take a while," Harry muttered, but his voice was largely drowned out.

"SHUT UP!" Sirius roared from somewhere out of sight.

"DON'T TELL ME TO SHUT UP YOU INSOLENT LITTLE PIECE OF-"

"And there was me thinking that dead people couldn't swear," George said as Mrs Black let forth an impressive spewing rant.

"I quite agree George," Fred said. "Such a bad example," he shook his head in mock distaste and then grinned.

The screams abruptly cut off once more and a young woman with bright hair entered the room, cheeks glowing red with embarrassment at her entrance.

"Wotcher, everyone," she said.

"Hey Tonks," Harry replied on behalf of everyone's welcoming grins.

Sirius came back into the room and gestured at the three officers in turn, rattling off their names as he went. "This is Jim Kirk and Doctor McCoy."

"I am Spock," the First Officer added after a brief raised eyebrow at Sirius' childish behaviour.

"Right, everyone ready to leave?" Sirius asked. At everyone's nods they walked quietly out of the house – mercifully unaccompanied by Mrs Black's overzealous insults – and trooped to the Underground.

Where McCoy promptly felt lost.

"This way Bones," Kirk admonished, having caught sight of McCoy lagging behind in the crowd and getting shoved along in a different direction.

"I'm coming damn it!" McCoy scuttled along, scowling. "How does anyone know their way around here anyway?"

"The signs," Kirk replied, pointing.

"Oh _now_ I see them."

"You should check your eyes, Bones," Kirk teased.

"I'm a doctor, not an optician."

"You could be both."

"And lose my favourite catch phrase?" McCoy replied with a teasing grin. "Never."

A small group of young people were walking towards them; paper held out and nervously expectant looks on their faces.

"Are you lost?" McCoy asked, hoping they weren't since he was as well and had no hope at all of giving them directions.

One of them stepped warily forward. "We just want your autograph and a photo."

"Autograph?" Kirk repeated blankly.

"...And a photo," the man added.

The man thrust his piece of paper into their faces. "For Star Trek."

Spock raised a challenging eyebrow at them. "We are not the actors responsible for Star Trek."

"You look pretty close though," someone else piped up, "you even have the ears, for crying out loud!"

"Ah..." Kirk said, "that...was an accident. With a mechanical rice picker."

"Mechanical rice picker?" McCoy asked.

Kirk shrugged. "It was in Sp-" he gave the group a quick glance and hastily corrected himself, "Selek's...memories. I'll explain some other time."

"So will you do it?" The spokesman asked.

"Absolutely not!" McCoy said vehemently.

"It would be fun," he said enticingly.

"We have a train to catch," Kirk said shortly, "but maybe I could keep a copy of that photo of the cast you have there?"

"Sure. We have enough of them anyway," he handed over the photo and then walked away with the group in the direction of another train.

"Curious," Spock murmured, watching them leave with an almost distracted expression on his face.

"What is?" McCoy asked.

"It would appear that, unlike in other universes where one would expect to encounter a replica of oneself, we exist merely in the form of a television programme."

"The universe is a crazy, crazy place," McCoy said.

"It is illogical," Spock continued, "to attempt to mimic the conditions of space travel while living on a planet. I am certain that the scenarios will be strewn with inaccuracies."

"Do I really look like that in the TV show?" Kirk interrupted, holding the photo up and squinting at it as they caught up with the magical entourage.

"Of course not," McCoy scoffed, "that's only why there's a photo of you looking like that...though maybe Spock could do with some of those muscles," he added, nodding at the counterpart in the photograph. "He looks a bit weedy now."

"I fail to comprehend why you insist upon poorly constructed similes when in my presence."

"You're just insulted that I likened you to a plant," McCoy teased as they reached the platform.

"I am not."

McCoy rolled his eyes at him. "Whatever. So where's the train that's going to come along and poison our air so that our lungs fill with soot and we suffocate?"

"If you are referring to the early models of a locomotive which required steam to function," Spock said, "then you have failed to board it."

"By a long time," Ron interjected.

"If, however, you are referring to the more refined model then it should arrive shortly. Contrary to your expectations, this locomotive will not be directly responsible for your demise."

"What about indirect?"

"It is plausible," Spock conceded, "that although this vehicle is currently in the Underground sector, it will later journey to open countryside, with you remaining a passenger. Considering the fact that there may be numerous bridges for the train to cross and that some of these may be unstable structures, your demise could occur in this manner. It would not be directly the fault of the railway, but it is linked to the vehicle."

"Well isn't _that_ good to know?" McCoy growled as the train came shuddering to a halt in front of them.

McCoy reached the doors first, and promptly stood in front of them with a lost and confused expression, people jostling at him impatiently from behind.

"How do you get on these damn things?"

"Push the bloody button!" Moody bellowed at him impatiently.

"_Which_ button?"

A harried looking business man reached past McCoy and pressed a flashing button, causing the doors to leap open and everyone to shuffle inside, where they stood as no seats were available. The air was stiflingly hot underground, despite the weather outside; until a few people had miniscule beads of sweat forming on their foreheads.

Moody glared at the three officers and muttered something about being inconspicuous and vigilant before moving over to where the students were standing, trying to understand the concept of electricity. They were of course receiving several weird looks, but this went largely unnoticed.

"...But how can it travel through a wire?" Ron asked, frowning. "You just told me these people don't use magic."

"They don't!" Harry said in exasperation. "They get the current to move along a wire and into the motor...don't touch that," he added when Ron reached out to pull a lever, "that's for emergencies..."

"Oh," Ron muttered, but soon forgot this mistake as he looked around him once more. "This electricity thing is bloody brilliant."

"A bit annoying though," Fred said.

"And inconvenient," George interjected. "You'd have to take leads everywhere..."

"How do they use things when there's no electricity around?" Ron asked after a beat of silence. "Do they have back up hand operated machines or what?"

"Ron, it's called a battery," Harry said quietly, "and I'll tell you more about it when we get back..." he gave Moody, who was glaring at them, an innocent grin.

Moody snorted and stared out the window despite the fact that there was nothing to see in the tunnel. The conversation turned to less incriminating things on the part of the students, before McCoy decided to take over for the officers.

"These things a worse than shuttles," McCoy groaned.

"Shuttles," Kirk explained to a woman who was looking at them with a worried expression. "You know, the..."

"Buses," Spock supplied at Kirk's floundering look.

"Buses," Kirk continued not-so-smoothly, "that go from point A to point B but never to C? ...Never mind," he said when she just blinked at him and stepped back a pace.

He turned back to his two friends. "You'd think we were from outer space or something."

"We are."

"Spock," McCoy hissed when the woman's eyebrows twitched, "Jim was _trying_ to make us appear normal. He doesn't need you jumping in and ruining it."

"I apologise, Leonard, however it is unlikely that these passengers will ever consider us 'normal' given the level of attention that my ears are currently receiving."

"Trust you to be conspicuous."

"This is the part where you say, 'I do my best'," Kirk quipped to Spock.

"That is a false statement as I do not endeavour to the best of my abilities to be conspicuous."

"Bones doesn't know that."

An eyebrow rose. "I would assume that, having heard this conversation, he now has his suspicions."

The train slowly drew to a halt, the tunnel over head echoing the slight screech on the rails as all momentum was banished and more people got onto the already crowded train. One young woman sashayed her way through the crowd and directly over to Spock, who remained completely oblivious to her heavily made up appearance and posh clothes, accentuated by the bright hair that draped over slim shoulders.

She flicked her hair, which promptly hit Spock in the eye and actually caused him to jerk his head back slightly as this, combined with the heavy force of slightly too much perfume, caused him to mentally stagger. She seemed oblivious to this, however, as she reached a hand out to touch the pole that Spock was grasping, her hand brushing his slightly.

Spock's eyes went very, _very_ wide and he moved his hand away quickly, trying to appear discreet but not quite succeeding.

"I'm right here," McCoy complained, picking up their previous thread of conversation and not noticing Spock's new dilemma at all. "Why do you have to talk about me when you could just talk _to_ me?"

"Because," Kirk replied, "it's more fun that way."

"You'll just end up being ranted at."

"Exactly. I happen to find your rants funny."

McCoy scowled at him. "You _should_ find them intimidating."

The woman leaned against the pole and arched her leg out to the side slightly so that she could reach into her pockets and pull out a crumpled piece of paper, an address scrawled over it. She glanced at it for a few moments before shaking her hair out of her face and shoving it back in her pocket.

"How can I?" Kirk questioned. "You practically hop up and down and do air hostess arm gestures...it's impossible _not_ to find it funny."

"I don't do that."

"Honestly Bones, you haven't seen yourself."

A pale hand snaked into a stylish handbag and pulled out a chunky walkman, the headphones going over delicate ears and a song began playing. Everyone ignored it, being unable to hear most of it, but Spock, with his Vulcan hearing, was not so fortunate.

"_Ooh boys cheeky girls..."_ Spock inwardly cringed but kept his outward expression neutral, maintaining interest in his friends' conversation.

"I'll film you next time you do one," Kirk promised.

"Then I'd be too self-conscious of my rants to actually _rant_ anymore."

Kirk shrugged. "Knowing you, I'd say that wouldn't be very likely."

"_Ooh boys cheeky girls_."

"You could always do an impression," McCoy said sneakily.

Kirk shook his head. "On a crowded train? I might have a reputation, Bones, but even I'm not willing to do that."

"Shame. I might have found some way of filming it and sending it in to a TV show...You've Been Chained, I think..."

"It is called 'You've Been Framed', Leonard," Spock corrected, still unable to escape the music drifting into his unwilling ears.

"I knew it was something along those lines. I was close though, it rhymed."

"And that makes all the difference," Kirk teased. "How do you know so much about media, Spock?"

Spock raised a noncommittal eyebrow. "My mother had an extensive fascination with media."

"Glossy magazines and comedy shows?" Kirk asked knowingly.

"Correct."

McCoy rolled his eyes. "I'll never understand why everyone is so obsessed with celebrities."

"_I never ask you what's in your mind..."_ The woman wiggled her hips a bit as she stared at the train door, sending her handbag crashing into Spock's abdomen and causing him to exhale forcefully, but the other two officers, deep in discussion, didn't notice.

"There are a lot of things you'll never understand."

"Shut up, Jim."

"_Touch my bum..._" Something soft and rounded suddenly decided to make its presence known to Spock's legs, and Spock looked down in astonishment to see the woman in front of him rubbing her behind up and down his legs. "_This is life..."_

Spock uttered a silent prayer to all the ancient Gods of Vulcan and swiftly looked up, trying _very_ hard not to react. To think, his mother had constantly enthused to him the prospects of space travel, in particular to her own home planet, he had finally journeyed here for purposes other than study, and he was being used as a _dance pole_. He could barely believe it.

"...are we going, anyway?" McCoy was asking.

"St Mungo's."

"It sounds like a type of fruit," McCoy complained, "not a hospital."

"I suppose that there was once a Saint Mungo..."

"What was he?" McCoy demanded, "patron saint of tropical fruit?"

"_We are the cheeky girls, we are the cheeky girls."_ Spock found himself slowly slipping into despair at whatever so called 'talent' had written the lyrics to this song.

"I have no idea, Bones, why don't you ask him?"

"Because he's probably _dead_," McCoy retorted, ignoring the joke behind the words. "There's a reason they name a hospital after these people!"

"He could be a really famous doctor at the moment."

McCoy snorted. "You'd think these people never age if that was the case."

"I don't think they do," Kirk replied. "Look at Dumbledore – I've heard him mention some things which were definitely not recent."

"It is probable that their differing biological structure renders them immune to the maladies which so commonly affect Muggles," Spock said.

Moody, who was still standing nearby, glared at them. "What are you talking about?" He asked pointedly.

"Just a movie," Kirk replied smoothly. "It's fairly old, I'm not sure you would have seen it."

"I don't watch old films," Moody grunted, playing along as he turned in apparent disinterest away from the conversation.

The woman before Spock suddenly bent over, the part of her body facing the ceiling promptly driving Spock into the wall and pinning him there, helpless. She wiggled about to the beat as she rummaged excessively through her handbag, which she had placed on the floor, humming to the beat now.

Spock attempted to move around the obstacle, but it moved with him, pushing into his lower stomach uncomfortably hard.

"_We are the cheeky girls, we are the cheeky girls..."_ Spock couldn't agree more with that statement at that very moment.

He opened his mouth and considered asking his two comrades for help, but snapped it shut as it occurred to him that he would have to speak over the woman's head, and she might hear him. Conscious of the eyes upon him, regarding his increasingly dire situation with interest, he stood stock still, eyes wide.

He decided, after several more moments of standing like this, that he would have to say something. "Pardon me..."

No response.

Spock began to panic as the thought struck him that she might never 'find' whatever was in her bag.

"Madam?" Spock tried again. "You are currently infiltrating my personal space."

The woman finally jerked something free of her bag and yanked it into the air, revealing a large bottle of water which she unscrewed slowly, wiggling her hips, and promptly began draining. The train jerked, and water sloshed over the side, onto Spock's shirt.

It quickly spread, sticking to his sensitive skin and causing his lips to thin into a disapproving line. Several people snickered.

She screwed the lid back on and stood there vacantly for a moment, swaying to the beat that only she and Spock could hear. The unfortunate First Officer was beginning to severely fear for his sanity.

Finally, Kirk seemed to notice that Spock was backed into a corner, almost disappearing behind the seemingly innocent young woman with headphones, his eyes wide and pleading. "Excuse me," he said loudly and clearly, looking pointedly at her, "you're crushing my friend into the wall."

She took out one headphone. "Hmmm? Oh sorry," she said, taking a step further back and seriously reducing Spock's ability to breathe due to the space he was currently forced to inhabit. "You should have told me you wanted more room."

"Not me," Kirk clarified, pointing over her shoulder, "him. You're crushing him into the wall."

She glanced over her shoulder and did a double take. "I'm so sorry," she gushed unconvincingly, "I didn't know you were there!"

Spock took the opportunity to flee from the corner and stand by Kirk, shocked into silence by the excessive body contact that had been forced upon him. Kirk, for his part, gave him a comforting glance before levelling a very intimidating glare upon the woman, who appeared to be immune to it.

Mercifully, the train ground to a halt soon afterwards and they all tumbled off, Spock managing not to shoot a wary glance back at one particular passenger.

"Is such behaviour common whilst travelling on trains?" Spock asked as they caught up with the rest of the group.

"It does happen," Kirk replied in sympathy.

"Highly illogical," Spock murmured, looking slightly shell shocked as the train began to rumble away, taking the woman who was now blowing kisses at him out of sight.

"I'm guessing you won't be going on the Underground again if you can help it," McCoy cut in.

"Indeed. I found it a highly disturbing experience."

"Not far from here," Moody was saying to Harry as he stomped his way through the Christmas shoppers when they reached the high street. "Wasn't easy to find a good location for a hospital. Nowhere in Diagon Alley was bit enough and we couldn't have it underground like the Ministry – wouldn't be healthy. In the end they managed to get hold of a building up here. Theory was, sick wizards could come and go and just blend in with the crowd."

"Unless they had ears like Spock's," McCoy murmured, noticing that they were receiving many curious glances once more.

"We should have given you a hat to use to cover them up," Kirk mused.

"That would have been logical," Spock admitted. "However, we had a limited amount of time to prepare ourselves for the journey."

"They must be cold," Kirk remarked.

"It is hardly drastic."

"Here we go," Moody suddenly announced, stomping to a halt.

They found themselves staring at an old and dilapidated brick building. The faded lettering above the door told them that it had once been called 'Purge and Dowse LTD'. An ugly and broken female dummy stared at them with an unnerving gaze.

"_This _is a hospital?" McCoy demanded.

"Obviously it's disguised," Moody snapped. "We can't have the Muggles knowing it's here."

"Right," Tonks said, stopping the exchange with a look, "Everybody ready?"

They nodded, warily clustering around her while Moody's ever spinning eye kept a look out for any danger.

Tonks leaned forwards and spoke directly to the dummy. "Wotcher. We're here to see Arthur Weasley."

To everyone's surprise, the dummy nodded and beckoned to them with a plastic finger.

"It's...alive..." McCoy said unnecessarily.

"Leonard, you have witnessed suits of armour within the castle move in this manner. I fail to understand your sudden and unprecedented reaction to such a similar situation."

"This is just...less expected," McCoy clarified, "especially since I've been away from magic for a while."

Grinning at them, Tonks seized Ginny and Mrs Weasley, stepped through the glass and vanished. Fred, George and Ron stepped after them. After a nod from Moody, Harry disappeared as well.

McCoy simply stood there gaping like a fish out of water when it was his turn. "I'm not going through that."

"We don't have all day," Moody snapped.

"The shop just swallowed them whole!" He jabbed a finger into the glass and pulled it back quickly, as though he had been burned, staring at it. "It's made of water."

Kirk placed a hand on McCoy's back, giving a small wink to Spock as he did so. "Let me see, Bones."

"Nothing was there," McCoy murmured, wiggling his finger around a bit, "but it felt like cold water, Jim."

"How weird," Kirk pondered, before giving his friend a gigantic shove forward, ignoring the yelled exclamations as he fell through the window and disappeared.

None of the passersby had noticed.

"Curious," Spock observed after sparing them a brief glance.

Grinning, Kirk nodded his head at the entrance. "Shall we, Mister Spock?"

"I believe that now would be an opportune moment."

Kirk stepped forward confidently, Spock and Moody in tow, and promptly discovered that, as a matter of fact, the glass was as solid as glass should be, and had developed a new hobby of knocking very surprised and mystified captains into the arms of their first officers.

Kirk coughed and disentangled himself from Spock's grasp, straightening his clothes with as much dignity as he could muster. Spock, meanwhile, had turned a delicate shade of green and made a show of placing his hands behind his back in his customary stance when on bridge duty.

"We're too late," Moody told them angrily. "If that friend of yours hadn't been so slow, we wouldn't be out here now!" He stomped forwards and spoke quickly to the dummy, leaving an awkward silence in his wake.

Kirk cleared his throat noisily once more. "I meant to do that."

"Of course, Jim."

The glass shimmered ever so slightly, indicating that it was now safe to go through. Moody promptly vanished with an angry glare, as though the two remaining officers were somehow at fault for allowing McCoy to take so long.

"It's now or never," Kirk murmured, and stepped through, with Spock close on his heels.

"There you are!" Tonks exclaimed when they emerged surprised and blinking on the other side of the glass.

"What took you so long?" McCoy asked quietly, stepping sharply out of the way of a man who scuttled towards them on five, madly dancing legs.

"You did, Bones."

"Me? I didn't do anything!"

"Exactly," Kirk groused. "You took so long that the glass became solid when I finally tried to walk into it."

McCoy grinned in amusement at the image and Spock's apparent embarrassment, but then decided to examine Kirk with not entirely convincing sympathy. "Are you injured, Jim, or is it just your pride?"

"Shut up, Bones."

McCoy chuckled and glanced around, clapping his hands together when he caught sight of some green robes with an embroidered badge on each chest. "Finally, some doctors. I might learn to like this place."

"Doctors?" Ron repeated with a startled glance at McCoy. "Those Muggle nutters who cut people up? Nah, these are Healers."

"I should have known..." McCoy grumbled.

"Over here!" Mrs Weasley called, waving her hand above her head so that she could be seen through the crowded room.

"Honestly," they heard George complain, "Mum has no tact."

"Right you are, bro," Fred agreed.

They shuffled over to a desk marked 'Enquiries' where a fairly large queue had begun to form.

"I've never seen _that_ injury in my life," McCoy muttered as he stared at as man whose head had done a 180 degree turn and was now staring at them, elephant trunk twisting lazily. A moment later, the head rotated again so that it was now facing the right way.

"Considering the fact that magic does not exist in our usual timeline, that is hardly surprising."

"I know that, Sherlock."

"I am not Sherlock Holmes."

"Oh forget it," McCoy snapped.

At the front of a queue, a man was hopping frantically from foot to foot as though his feet were on fire. "It's these – ouch – shoes my brother gave me – ow – they're eating my – OUCH – feet – look at them, there must be some kind of – ARGH – jinx on them and I can't – AARRGH – get them off!"

"The shoes don't prevent you reading, do they?" The witch behind the desk snapped. "You want Spell Damage, fourth floor. Just like it says on the floor guide. Next!"

"Hospital staff are supposed to be helpful," McCoy growled as he watched the man struggle and hop towards the lift without any assistance.

As the mismatched queue decreased in size, McCoy seemed to increase in temper.

"What kind of hospital is this?" He demanded, pointing at a woman who was struggling to pull herself along the floor, mermaid tail flapping frantically. "Does no-one help anybody else around here?"

He rushed towards the woman and crouched before her, placing a soft hand on her shoulder to stop her laboured journey. "Hey, now, I can help – let's just get you off the floor and-"

He backpedalled sharply when the woman barked at him.

"Do you want someone to help you, Bones?"

"I'm fine," McCoy snapped, recovering his dignity and finally managing to help the woman into a nearby wheel chair. "There you go."

She barked her thanks at him and began heading in the direction of the lift.

"You're welcome," he replied uncertainly, rejoining the queue where Mrs Weasley was now at the front.

"My husband," she said, "Arthur Weasley, was supposed to be moved to a different ward this morning, could you tell us...?"

"Arthur Weasley? Yes, first floor, second door on the right, Dai Llewellyn Ward."

"Thank you. Come on, you lot."

They followed her through the double doors and into the well lit corridor beyond, sparing a curious glance at the candles which floated high above them, caged in what looked like giant bubbles.

"Hey!" One of the portraits on the wall exclaimed. "Hey, you!"

"Me?" Kirk asked.

"No," the witch snapped, rolling her eyes. "Not _you_. The one with the ears."

Spock turned a curious gaze towards her.

"Looks like you got caught with a nasty hex there," she said, looking him up and down. "Are you sure you're on the right floor?"

"I beg your pardon?"

She sighed in irritation. "How can you be deaf with ears like that? I said," she repeated loudly, "are you sure you're on the right floor?"

"I do not require the attention of a Healer."

"Are you mad? You can't wander around like _that_ for the rest of your life! People would think you've escaped."

"Escaped?" Spock repeated blankly.

"From the North Pole of course. Haven't you ever heard the Muggle legend of Santa Clause? What _do _they teach these people in Muggle Studies, I don't know, things were never like this back in my day..."

"He usually looks like this," McCoy explained.

"Really? I had no idea that jinxes like that could last from birth – you poor dear. Who did it?"

"His parents," McCoy snapped, "and it isn't a jinx."

The portrait looked taken aback. "_Oh_. Well – God have pity on you..."

Kirk and McCoy looked as though they would like nothing better than to pull the portrait from the wall and set fire to it, but Spock was already walking away, unconcerned.

"Spock," McCoy puffed, catching up with the Vulcan's long stride, "you have to learn to defend yourself."

"There is no logic in entering a lengthy debate with a portrait."

"You shouldn't have let it talk to you like that."

"It is merely an imprint of a person, Jim. To say that it 'talked' to me at all would be an error of judgement."

"Spock..."

"Gentlemen, the situation was far from dire and we are no longer in the presence of the portrait. Any further discussion of the incident would serve no use."

"Right," McCoy snapped, "because teaching you to defend yourself is not important at all."

"In comparison with our current endeavour, it is not."

"We'll wait outside, Molly," Tonks said, cutting the argument short. "Arthur wouldn't want too many visitors in at once...it ought to be just the family first."

When Harry tried to back away, Mrs Weasley grabbed him and pushed him through the door. "Don't be silly, Harry, Arthur wants to thank you. You'd better come too, Spock, you're the one who helped Harry get out of the vision in time, from what I understand."

"I would be honoured," Spock replied, dipping his head.

"We'll be right here," Kirk said to Spock.

"Don't be silly," Mrs Weasley said, "you can come too."

"Why don't you just invite the whole corridor?" Moody growled as Kirk and McCoy trooped in too, leaving just Moody and Tonks outside.

The door closed behind them, leaving only one window to light the room by Mr Weasley's bed. The man was propped up in bed and reading a newspaper, looking for all the world like he was lounging around on his own sofa and not in a hospital bed with bandages covering his injuries.

"Hello!" He called, but not loudly enough to disturb the room's other two occupants. "Bill just left, Molly, had to get back to work, but he says he'll drop in on you later."

Mrs Weasley reached down to kiss him and squeeze his hand, looking into his eyes earnestly. "How are you, Arthur? You're still looking a bit peaky."

"I feel absolutely fine," he said as he gave Ginny a hug. "If they could only take the bandages off, I'd be fit to go home."

"Why can't they take them off, Dad?" Fred asked, looking concerned.

Despite what he was about to say, Mr Weasley looked cheerful as he reached for his wand and conjured some chairs for them to sit on. "Well, I start bleeding like mad every time they try. It seems there was some rather unusual kind of poison in that snake's fangs that keeps wounds open."

"Lucky it wasn't in the neck, then."

"George!" Mrs Weasley admonished, looking horrified.

"I was very lucky," Mr Weasley assured his son gravely. "If it wasn't for you lot, I would have bled to death."

"What about your wounds?" McCoy asked. "I'm a doctor," he added at the man's vacant look. "Doctor Leonard McCoy, this is Jim Kirk and Spock. We were there when Harry had the vision."

"A doctor?" Mr Weasley repeated in curiosity.

"Don't get any ideas, Arthur," Mrs Weasley warned.

"I won't, dear," he replied hastily. "They're sure they'll find an antidote, Doctor. They say they've had worse cases than mine, and in the meantime I just have to keep taking a Blood-Replenishing Potion every hour."

McCoy nodded, a thoughtful look crossing his face, which Mr Weasley evidently saw but pretended to ignore with his wife in the vicinity.

"But that fellow over there," he added, nodding towards an ill looking man lying prone on his back, "got bitten by a werewolf, poor chap. No cure at all."

"A werewolf?" McCoy asked.

"A bite from a werewolf can be fatal," Mr Weasley explained, "if help doesn't arrive in time. Some are lucky enough to survive...but they're never the same again."

"Why not?"

"They become one as well," Mr Weasley whispered, sympathy on his face.

"Is he safe in a public ward?" Mrs Weasley asked in alarm. "Shouldn't he be in a private room?"

"It's two weeks till full moon," Mr Weasley said quietly. "They've been talking to him this morning, the Healers, you know, trying to persuade him that he'll be able to live an almost normal life. I said to him – didn't mention any names of course – but I said I knew a werewolf personally, very nice man, who finds the condition quite easy to manage."

"What did he say?" George asked.

"Said he'd give me another bite if I didn't shut up. And that woman over _there_ won't tell the Healers what bit her, which makes us all think it must have been something she was handling illegally. Whatever it was took a real chunk out of her leg, _very_ nasty smell when they take off the dressings."

"Don't they have a spell to counteract that?" McCoy asked.

Mr Weasley shrugged slightly. "They probably haven't thought of using any to control smells."

"So, you going to tell us what happened, Dad?" Fred asked.

"You already know, don't you?" Mr Weasley replied, smiling at the group gratefully. "It's very simple – I'd had a very long day, dozed off, got sneaked up on and bitten."

"Is it in the _Prophet_, you being attacked?"

"No, of course not, Fred. The Ministry wouldn't want to know how a dirty great serpent got-"

"Arthur!" Mrs Weasley hissed.

"-got – er – me..."

"So where were you when it happened, Dad?"

"That's my business, George," Mr Weasley said with an apologetic smile. He opened the newspaper again. "I was just reading about Willy Widdershins' arrest when you arrived. You know Willy turned out to be behind those regurgitating toilets back in the summer? One of his jinxes backfired, the toilet exploded and they found him lying unconscious in the wreckage covered head to foot in-"

"When you say you were 'on duty'," Fred interrupted, seeing right through his father's attempt to change the topic, "what were you doing?"

"You heard your father; we are not discussing this here. Go on about Willy Widdershins, Arthur," Mrs Weasley ordered.

"Well," Mr Weasley replied dutifully, "don't ask me how, but he actually got off the toilet charge. I can only suppose gold changed hands-"

"You were guarding it, weren't you?" George whispered. "The weapon? The thing You-Know-Who was after before he disappeared."

"George," Mrs Weasley barked, "be quiet!"

"Anyway," Mr Weasley said desperately, as though daring anyone to interrupt him, "this time Willy's been caught selling doorknobs to Muggles and I don't think he'll be able to worm his way out of it. According to the article, two Muggles have lost fingers and are now in St Mungo's for emergency bone re-growth and memory modification. Just think of it, Muggles in St Mungo's! I wonder which ward they're in?"

"I'm sure they wouldn't exactly enjoy everyone staring at them," McCoy said.

Mr Weasley looked slightly mollified. "No, of course not, I was-"

"Didn't you say You-Know-Who's got a snake, Harry?" Asked Fred. "A massive one? You saw it the night he returned, didn't you?"

"That's enough," Mrs Weasley snapped. "Mad-Eye and Tonks are outside, Arthur, they want to come and see you. And you lot can wait outside," she said, gesturing to the students. "You can come and say goodbye afterwards. Go on."

"What about them?" Fred demanded, nodding his head at the officers.

"We need them to stay here for the moment."

"Fine," Fred retorted coolly, "don't tell _us_ anything, then."

They trooped reluctantly out into the corridor, holding the door open as Moody and Tonks came in, eying Spock curiously.

"So," Moody said without any preamble, "you saw the whole thing, then?"

"I did," Spock replied, casting a careful glance at the other occupants in the room. None of them were listening.

"_And_?" Tonks prompted.

Spock steepled his fingers in front of his face and rested his elbows on his knees. "It would appear that Voldemort has a powerful mental connection with his snake, as he was able to posses it despite the universal barriers."

"You're sure it was him?" Moody demanded.

"Quite sure."

Moody didn't look convinced. "Even He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named can't be strong enough to possess a snake from another universe."

"I assure you that he is."

"And just what experience have you had?"

"I am a natural telepath," Spock said calmly. "It is customary on Vulcan to be trained from birth in the art of telepathy."

"How convenient," Moody growled.

"If this is true," Kirk interjected before an argument could escalate, "then we may be in trouble. Voldemort might have sensed both Harry and Spock in the vision."

"He did not," Spock said. "I felt no recognition of our presence."

"We'll have to verify that," Moody said. "We want to be sure this is accurate."

"For heavens' sake Mad-Eye," Mrs Weasley sighed. "How likely is it that he's under the Imperius Curse or lying about what he saw?"

"I didn't live this long by trusting people without evidence."

"Since we have no proof otherwise," Mr Weasley suggested, "perhaps we should assume for now that it _is_ correct information...that is," he amended, seeing Moody's look, "until we _can_ find proof."

"Either way," McCoy said, " it's obvious that these visions need to stop. They place a lot of strain on Harry's body and if he's alone when a particularly strong one comes, there's no telling how much damage it would inflict upon him."

"I think Dumbledore has a plan," Moody said shortly. "Now, about that snake-"

"They searched the whole area," Tonks interrupted, looking at Mr Weasley anxiously, "but couldn't find the snake anywhere. It just seems to have vanished after it attacked you, Arthur...but You-Know-Who can't have expected a snake to get in, can he?"

"I reckon he sent it as a lookout," Moody growled, "'cause he's not had any luck so far, has he? No, I reckon he's trying to get a clearer picture of what he's facing and if Arthur hadn't been there the beast would've had a lot more time to look around. So, Potter also says he saw it all happen?"

"Yes," Mrs Weasley replied. "You know, Dumbledore seems almost to have been waiting for Harry to see something like this."

"He should have sorted something out when he first knew Harry was having visions," McCoy added.

"It is possible that the Headmaster was attempting to ascertain the depth of the connection," Spock said. "The previous vision merely occurred as a direct result of emotion. Here, however, the vision was much more lucid and purposeful."

"He wanted to see if it was a one-off?" Kirk asked.

"Precisely."

"Well," McCoy grunted, "now he knows it isn't."

"Dumbledore seemed worried about Harry when I spoke to him this morning," Mrs Weasley whispered, giving the door an uneasy glance.

"'Course he's worried," Moody growled as though this was the stupidest statement in history. "The boy's been seeing things from inside You-Know-Who's snake. Obviously, Potter doesn't realise what this means, but if You-Know-Who's possessing him-" He cut off, magical eye having turned all the way around to look through the back of his head towards the door.

"I don't like discussing this here," Moody suddenly said, his magical eye swivelling around and focussing on the door, "especially because they've overheard us." He stomped towards the door angrily.

"I'll see you later, Arthur," Mrs Weasley said, giving her husband another kiss on the cheek.

"Doctor!" Mr Weasley called out, just as everyone else left his bedside, "I have something to ask you."

McCoy waved his companions out the door and walked back to Mr Weasley's bed, where he sat down. "Is this about your wounds, Mr Weasley?"

"Yes – I've consulted the Healer, and although he thinks a cure can be found, he wants to try something else."

"Muggle methods?" McCoy guessed.

"Stitches, to be precise. I was just wondering if you, being a Muggle doctor, would be able to recommend anything better."

"Ordinarily," McCoy sighed, "I could, but I don't have my equipment with me. Under the circumstances, I think that stitches are really the only chance you have with Muggle medicine, provided the venom doesn't dissolve them."

Mr Weasley nodded, but seemed slightly disappointed. "I'll see how it goes, thank you."

"No problem," McCoy said, standing up.

"Just don't mention it to Molly – my wife," Mr Weasley asked. "She doesn't trust Muggle medicine, you see."

"Given the amount of time doctors spend cutting people up in this era," McCoy muttered, "I'm not entirely surprised, but I won't tell her. You should be safe with stitches."

"Thank you," Mr Weasley said again, smiling at him in gratitude.

McCoy grinned back. "Get some rest, Mr Weasley," he said simply. "I hope it works." Giving the werewolf a tremulous nod, he headed out the ward.


	27. Dumbledore, Discussions, Decorations

**27. Dumbledore, Discussions, Decorations. **

"Of all the seasons we could have gone out of the castle on a wild goose chase around the streets of England," McCoy growled, "it _had_ to be winter."

"You could always use a heating spell," Ron pointed out.

McCoy glared at him in annoyance. "If I was actually able to do that, do you think I'd be complaining?"

Ron considered him for a moment. "Definitely," he said finally, "because if you _could_ do magic, you'd probably make yourself too hot..."

"If there was snow here," McCoy snapped, eyes twinkling at the youth before him, "you would have a mouth full of it by now."

"Which I would spit back at you."

Moody, who had been living up to his name and walking several paces ahead in annoyance, suddenly stopped dead and held out his hand to prevent the others from walking into him.

"This is it," he said simply.

"Where?" McCoy asked.

Almost as soon as the words had left his mouth, the irascible human was gaping at what had once been a gapless join between houses 11 and 13. An old and ordinary yet slightly forbidding house seemed to be growing from the side of house number 13, ruthlessly shoving the row of other houses to the side as it continued to expand. The ground shook violently as the pavement and road elongated to accommodate this new addition to the neighbourhood, upsetting several bins, which regurgitated their half rotten contents onto the ground.

They continued to gape until the transformation had stopped; noticing with something akin to worried amazement that no-one in the area besides from them had noticed that anything was amiss. Even the clanging as the bins continued to roll around in the road drew no attention, aside from the few irate drivers who swerved around them but otherwise left them there.

"Fascinating. It would appear that the sudden development of a previously non-existent building in a short period of time has been unnoticed by the general population of this area."

"Do you always have to talk like that?" McCoy snapped, still staring at the building before him with a certain wonderment crossing his features.

"It is hardly possible for me to adopt any alternative speech pattern merely to adhere to your preferences, Leonard."

"Of course not," McCoy scoffed, "because adopting a non-tangible aspect would be ridiculous."

Spock allowed himself to raise an eyebrow at this unexpected role reversal. "I was not intending for you to interpret that statement literally."

"And now," McCoy said with an unmistakable air of triumph, "you see why I get so irritated."

"I am not irritated."

McCoy glared at him. "You always have to find a way to poke holes in my arguments, don't you?"

"I think that's a rhetorical question," Kirk said quietly when Spock opened his mouth to reply.

"Let's just go in," McCoy snapped, stomping up to the front door.

"McCoy," Moody snapped, "you can't just go barging-"

The warning was lost on the grumpy physician, who opened the door with enough force to wake the dead which, it could be argued, it did.

"BACK AGAIN, I SEE!" The portrait of the enraged woman screamed; spit flying towards them as the rest of the group warily followed McCoy in. "SCUM AND FOUL BLOOD TRAITORS TAINTING THE LEGACY OF MY ANCESTORS! IF THEY COULD SEE YOU NOW THEY WOULD BE *THRASHING* IN THEIR GRAVES-"

"Shut up you bat!" McCoy suddenly bellowed, having finally reached the end of his temper after the day's events.

This had the effect of actually shutting up Mrs Black, who was currently staring at the doctor, eyes widening in rage and quivering so madly they suspected she could fall out her portrait at any moment.

"HOW *DARE* YOU?" She screeched, jabbing a finger in his general direction. "YOU DARE TO INSULT THE GREAT FAMILY NAME OF BLACK? IF I WASN'T STUCK IN A PORTRAIT-"

"Shut up!" Sirius roared, jerking his wand at the portrait which was soon covered by the curtains, leaving a group of weary people in the abrupt silence. "Glad to see you're back," he said wryly, pulling them into the nearest room and shutting the door so that they wouldn't re-disturb Mrs Black.

"How is he?" Sirius asked quietly once they had all sat down.

"He's recovering quickly," Fred answered.

"Though they can't find a cure for the venom," George added.

"Which keeps his wounds open," Fred explained.

Sirius breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank God," he murmured, allowing himself to fully sink back into the chair.

"You'll be able to see him soon, Sirius," Mrs Weasley said comfortingly.

Sirius snorted. "I'd be able to see him much sooner if I wasn't trapped in here like a criminal."

"It is for your own safety," Spock interjected.

Sirius whirled on him. "Nobody asked you," he spat, "and quite honestly, I don't see why you're still here. You've done your bit, haven't you? You've '_saved'_ Harry from the visions."

"I have," Spock replied. "Nevertheless, I feel the need to remain. My assistance may be required on another occasion."

Sirius snorted. "How noble."

Spock lifted an indignant eyebrow. "I am hardly fabricating such motivations, Mister Black. If Mister Potter does indeed suffer another instance of telepathic connection with Voldemort," he ignored Sirius' flinch at the name, "he will require my assistance. Of that, there is no doubt. I am merely being logical."

"Logical," Sirius snorted.

"Logic is the way of my race," Spock said shortly, unwilling to explain further to someone who so clearly would not appreciate the explanation and would twist it to suit his own prejudices.

"You have some questions to answer, boy," Moody suddenly snapped, rising from his seat, "and this is not the place for it."

"Which location would you suggest?"

"A room where no ears can listen in," Moody replied, pointedly glaring at the students.

"Shouldn't you wait for Dumbledore?" Kirk asked. "Any theories could be discussed at the same time."

Moody seemed to debate for a moment before finally stomping over to the fireplace. "Get in," he growled.

"In?" McCoy replied, blinking at him.

"Yes, in. Now. We don't have all day!"

"...How will burning us alive solve anything?"

"Leonard," Spock said with an extraordinary amount of patience, "surely you realise that he is merely attempting to coerce you into travelling by Floo."

McCoy sighed. "I just can't pretend to take things literally like you do..."

"Indeed, you cannot. It would appear that that talent is reserved for the Vulcan race."

Spock raised an eyebrow at Kirk. "That was a...surprisingly accurate imitation, Jim."

Kirk grinned. "It was, wasn't it?"

"Just get in the bloody fireplace!" Moody demanded, eye whizzing to point at all of them in concentrated rage.

"Alright," McCoy muttered, stepping in and standing there, resisting the urge to fidget. "I keep expecting to be flattened by a man in a bright red suit..."

"It's the time of year for it, Bones."

McCoy glared at Kirk. "I'm sure you'd use a situation like that as black mail to get out of your next medical."

"You can count on it."

"Throw down a handful of this powder," Moody growled, putting a swift stop to the banter, "and call your destination loudly."

"And clearly," Ron added with a pointed glance at Harry.

"Dumbledore's office?" McCoy asked.

"Obviously."

"Right," McCoy murmured, grabbing a handful of the colourful powder. He threw it down dramatically. "Dumbledore's office!" The words were punctuated by harsh splutters as the doctor disappeared from the fireplace.

Kirk shook his head. "Too much powder, Bones," he said needlessly, a grin plastered firmly on his face as he imagined the irate man emerging on the other side, coughing.

"You next," Moody said, stomping over to Kirk and thrusting the powder into his hands.

Kirk dutifully took a handful, walked calmly over to the fireplace and threw the powder down, shouting out the destination as he did so. He disappeared without incident.

"Now you," Moody announced, moving over to Spock.

The Vulcan calmly took a measured handful of the powder, almost weighing it as he did so to ensure that he received the correct amount and would not suffer the same fate as McCoy.

"Hurry up," Moody urged, looking faintly annoyed.

"You either do these things properly," George replied for him, "or you don't do it at all, right Harry?"

"Er...yeah." Harry was clearly embarrassed about whatever memory they were sharing, turning slightly red at each mention.

Spock walked swiftly over to the fireplace, examined it slightly and then calmly threw the powder neatly onto the ground before him, managing to call out the destination with more dignity than the other two officers had managed together.

Before he disappeared, they heard him mutter, "Fascinating..."

Fred chuckled. "Some things never change."

"You'd better stay here, you lot," Moody ordered, fixing everyone else in the room with his piercing glare, before turning his back and disappearing from the room.

He emerged moments later, stepping smoothly and without incident into Dumbledore's office, where the three officers were waiting patiently.

Dumbledore sat behind his desk, looking perfectly composed despite the fact that several unexpected visitors had just materialised in his fireplace and were now standing before him with varying degrees of awkwardness and suspicion. He promptly made to reach for the bowl of sweets which he usually reserved for students, but appeared to decide that, based upon Moody's expression, now was most definitely not the time.

"Ah, Alastor," he said instead, eying everyone serenely, "to what do I owe this visit?"

"I brought them here to answer a few questions," Moody said gruffly, pacing slightly further into the room so as to inflict his intimidating presence more effectively upon the officers.

"Ah, yes, I had suspected a scene like this," Dumbledore murmured.

"Where are they really from, Albus?" Moody demanded, pointing at the three men standing silently to the side of the desk.

"They are from the future, Alastor, as I told you when they arrived."

"You told him?" McCoy asked in surprise.

"You have, of course, heard of the Order of the Phoenix," Dumbledore replied, "who are responsible for all projects which are considered to be out of the Ministry's hands. Given both the opinions of the Minister and Professor Umbridge, I should say that their involvement in this instance was necessary. We do, after all, need to return you to your own universe without incident."

"Like the Death Eaters getting us," McCoy muttered irritably.

"I'm surprised they haven't already," Kirk remarked.

"Never underestimate the enemy," Moody warned, staring at him. "They're probably gathering their forces."

"I don't doubt that their delayed intervention is mainly due to Tom's disappearance," Dumbledore murmured.

"Tom?" Spock asked, his sharp ears picking up on this detail.

"A tale for another day, I'm afraid," Dumbledore said regretfully. "I suspect that it would be unwise to stop Alastor from questioning you for too long."

"How are you able to control Potter's visions?" Moody asked without preamble, staring at Spock as though he could see through his soul.

"As I have previously explained," Spock replied patiently, "I am a natural telepath and therefore am able to shield Mister Potter's mind from the unprecedented communications."

"How did you learn to control this ability?"

"It was customary on my planet to introduce children to the mental disciplines from an early age."

"Was?" Moody barked. "They no longer teach mind discipline?"

Spock's jaw tightened. "They continue to encourage the discipline," he countered.

"His home planet was destroyed," Dumbledore supplied quietly, "in circumstances which are not relevant to this discussion, Alastor."

Moody's eyes narrowed. "Everything is relevant."

"I ask," Dumbledore continued sombrely, "that you do not question him on his home planet, Alastor, and that is final."

Moody didn't look too happy about this, but didn't push the point. "There are laws restricting the use of this ability?"

"Of course," Spock replied, as though any other concept was repugnant.

"Can we be sure of this?" Moody asked Dumbledore.

The older wizard nodded. "I'm certain of it."

"Do you have any proof?"

"His mind," Dumbledore replied simply, "and that is all the proof we need. Indeed," he continued wryly, "it is the only proof we have."

"So he could be lying."

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. "It's my understanding that Vulcans don't lie."

"And of course," Moody spat back, "that's what _he_ says."

"I trust his word," Dumbledore said, as though daring Moody to contradict him.

Moody harrumphed. "The word of a prime suspect is never something to trust, Albus."

"He's not the prime suspect!" McCoy snapped. "He's the one who protects Harry's mind!"

"Which is suspicious enough, in itself. We don't know that these visions even exist."

"Of course they exist!" McCoy argued, going slightly red in the face at the thought that anyone would dare negate Spock's word. "What else could it possibly be?"

"That's what I'm trying to find out."

"It is Tom, Alastor," Dumbledore interrupted. "There is no doubt about that."

"How can you be so sure?" Moody demanded, looming over the older wizard, who looked unruffled. "You haven't even seen the visions. You only have the word of the boy and the mysterious man from the future." His voice was dripping with sarcasm.

"I have never given you cause to doubt my reasons for trust, Alastor."

Moody snorted. "Which of course you can't tell me."

"Regrettably, that is not possible."

Moody gave a brief and irritated sigh, glaring at Dumbledore, but apparently they had been through this argument too many times to start again in the middle of an investigation. "How did you get here?"

"We were on the Bridge of our ship," Kirk replied calmly, "when a strange mist appeared. After that, we were here and Voldemort had taken our place along with a few of his Death Eaters."

"He's on your ship?"

"Yes."

Moody began pacing. "How much damage could he do?"

"None at all," Kirk replied confidently, causing Moody to stop in his tracks and stare at him.

"Magic is non-existent in their universe," Dumbledore explained.

"I suppose you have no proof for this either?" Moody asked snidely.

"As a matter of fact," Dumbledore replied, his eyes twinkling slightly despite the circumstances, "I do. These three gentlemen have a certain amount of magical ability," he explained, gesturing towards them but keeping his eyes locked on Moody, "but are unable to control it to the extent even our first years students can."

"Can they use it at all?"

Dumbledore nodded. "I suspect that, if the circumstances were dire enough to provoke a strong reaction, they would be able to, yes, but they would have little or no control over the consequences."

"Passive magic only," Moody murmured as if to himself, pacing around the room once more. "This could put the students in danger, Albus."

"We have no other option, Alastor. If we turn them out of Hogwarts, they will be discovered by the Death Eaters and we would have no way of controlling Voldemort's return."

Moody growled. "You have a habit of causing impossible situations, Albus."

"It is a rather unfortunate talent."

"It seems," Moody finally snapped, turning back to the three officers, "that we have no choice but to keep you here, but be warned," his voice became low and threatening, "if I see so much as one sign that you're working with the Death Eaters, you'll be out of here before you can so much as think of trying to lie."

"Fair enough," Kirk said calmly, "though I assure you, we're not on the Death Eaters' side. We just want to get back to our ship."

Moody snorted. "And bring a mass murderer back to our world in doing so."

There was a heavy and stifling silence.

Dumbledore cleared his throat. "If that is all, Alastor?"

"For now," Moody replied.

"In that case," Dumbledore said with an attempt at a light voice which wasn't quite successful so soon after such a weighty discussion, "I believe you have a celebration to get back to."

"You're sending us back?" McCoy asked.

"Mister Potter will require further surveillance," Spock explained.

"I thought you wanted us out of reach of Death Eaters," McCoy elaborated.

"Grimmauld Place is equally as safe as Hogwarts," Dumbledore said. "As an unplottable house which can only be seen when its existence has been revealed by the Secret Keeper, I think it's safe to say that you won't be disturbed."

"Now," he said, clapping his hands and leading them back over to the fireplace, "you have a celebration to return to and I, unfortunately, have a mountain of paperwork that no amount of magic seems to shift...such is the burden of a Headmaster." His eyes twinkled. "I will join you all when I can."

McCoy shook his head. "Lord, not again..."

"Calm down, Bones. Technically, they're safer than the transporters."

"Thank you _so much_ for reminding me of those death traps, Jim," McCoy growled.

"No problem."

"Leonard, there is no danger."

McCoy gaped at the calm Vulcan before him. "Danger?" he squawked. "I was talking about the landing..."

Spock's eyes widened slightly as he realised that he had inadvertently opened a can of worms. "Ah," he said finally. "My apologies..."

"Now you've gone and done it," Moody growled, having apparently spent enough time with McCoy to at least take an educated guess at why McCoy was so worried.

"I'm _not_ going in there!"

"Oh dear," Dumbledore murmured, apparently apologetic. "Then it seems you shall have to travel by flying motor cycle."

"...Flying motor cycle?"

Dumbledore nodded, keeping a completely straight face. "Hagrid is, of course, the only capable – ah – pilot."

All colour had drained from the surgeon's face. "You've got to be kidding."

"Alternatively," Dumbledore said, just as seriously as before, "there is the possibility of asking Professor Snape or Madam Hooch to fly you there by broom. Both, I assure you, are very competent and swift flyers. There would be no time lost."

"Would that not be a somewhat conspicuous mode of transport?" Spock asked.

"There are spells for maintaining secrecy," Dumbledore replied.

"No," McCoy snapped, staring at everyone in the room as though they were mad, "_absolutely _not."

"Are there any more options?" Kirk asked innocently.

"Thestral."

"No," McCoy growled, the memory of Kirk's near disaster of a ride still firmly in his mind.

Dumbledore's eyes were beginning to twinkle. "Foot."

"How about," McCoy asked with deep weariness, "a car?"

Dumbledore pretended to mull that over. "Unfortunately, none of our professors can drive that particular Muggle vehicle, but I am quite certain that a few would be willing to give it a try. They are, after all, extremely fast learners."

"I thought you said the Floo network was being watched," McCoy said in desperation.

"It is," Dumbledore conceded, "but these circumstances are much less suspicious than those in which you travelled to Grimmauld Place. While it would have been potentially damning to have you seen travelling by Floo before the news of Mr Weasley's attack had arrived, we can now simply say that you are spending the Christmas holidays with the Weasley family and Mister Potter."

McCoy thought about that for a moment. "Damn it." He sighed in resignation and began walking obediently towards the fireplace. "Alright, but if I get burned to a cinder, I'll never forget your involvement in this," he warned, glowering at the two remaining officers, "and will make you wish you'd _never_ seen a hypo."

Spock raised both eyebrows. "While your threat admittedly has merit, given your reputation and demeanour when wielding a hypodermic syringe, I would hardly consider it effective due to its over-use, or even remotely plausible in this instance."

McCoy took his place and narrowed his eyes at Spock. "Why not?"

"It is physically impossible for a pile of ash, regardless of quantity or its previous dexterity when it existed as a human being, to hold that particular medical instrument."

McCoy opened his mouth to argue, but Moody, with an impatient growl, threw a large and generous handful of powder into the fireplace, bellowed the destination over any coughed protests and settled back with a self satisfied hum of triumph.

"Who's next?" He asked menacingly.

Dumbledore chuckled. "That, I think, has closed that particular debate."

Kirk, also chuckling in amusement, stepped into the fireplace and soon found himself standing behind McCoy in an empty and slightly run down room in what could only be Grimmauld Place.

"That wasn't so bad now, was it, Bones?"

"No," McCoy replied, "it was worse. I tripped over the fire grate and crashed headfirst into that armchair."

Kirk grinned and moved swiftly over to allow Spock entrance to the room. "At least you had a soft landing."

"Not everyone finds it easy to just step out of a fireplace after being blinded by smoke."

"Leonard, if you simply allow yourself approximately 3.5 seconds in which to regain your balance, you would not find yourself in difficulty."

"That's not the point, Spock," the surgeon replied irritably as they exited the room. "The _point_ is that they need to invent an easier way of travelling."

"If this universe follows our own in principle on the basis of Muggle technology," Spock said, "then your wish will be granted with the invention of the air car in 2060, the invention of the transporter in-"

"By which point," McCoy interrupted loudly, "I'd be _dead_."

"That would appear to pose a problem," Spock conceded.

As they drew towards the upper floors, they heard bustles of activity and short bursts of laughter, punctuated by the occasional crash and shouted instruction or reprimand from Mrs Weasley, who appeared to be reaching the end of her rope.

"No! Put that _down_," she ordered. "You can't carry boxes stacked up like that by wand, you'll-"

There was a loud thud.

"Drop them?" They heard Fred suggest innocently, his voice almost drowned out by raucous laughter.

"Sirius!" Mrs Weasley suddenly screeched, "stop encouraging them! We're supposed to be moving boxes downstairs, not demolishing furniture..."

"Sounds like they're busy," Kirk murmured before pushing the door open.

The room, they noticed immediately, looked like a small bomb had blown it into a state of barely organised chaos. To one side, standing well away from any damage and laughing silently so as not to attract the wrath of Mrs Weasley, were Harry, Ron and Hermione, who had arrived while the officers were at Hogwarts.

In the middle of the room and guiltily still wielding their wands were the twins, both of them struggling not to grin even as their mother stood before them, hair coming slightly out of its bands and hands firmly planted on her hips. Behind her and grinning shamelessly was Sirius, occasionally interjecting unhelpful remarks to Mrs Weasley's tirade.

Abruptly, Mrs Weasley caught sight of them and hurried over, her features slightly frantic after struggling to keep everyone in order. "Thank goodness you're here!" She exclaimed, all but pulling them into the room. "We're trying to get these boxes downstairs _but_," she said with a pointed look at the twins, "it's going rather more slowly than I would have liked."

"We'll help," Kirk promised cheerfully, already walking over to one of the abandoned boxes and picking it up easily. "What exactly is inside them?"

"Christmas decorations," Sirius replied. "The less dangerous ones, anyway. My family had a strange idea of the concept of celebration."

"Let's just say," Mrs Weasley interjected wearily, "that we no longer have to worry about exploding baubles or melting miniature trees."

"I didn't even know you could do that with magic," McCoy said vaguely.

"You'd be surprised," Fred replied mysteriously, giving the kind of smile that would have incurred his mother's immediate suspicion if she'd been looking at him and not busily returning to the boxes.

"Everyone grab one each," she said brusquely, "some of them are quite heavy, so be careful."

Spock promptly picked up four as though they weighed absolutely nothing and proceeded to walk calmly to the door.

"Blimey."

Spock turned back around to face Ron curiously. "Does something surprise you, Mr Weasley?"

"Yeah," Ron muttered, "those were the heavier ones."

"Vulcan strength is vastly superior to that of the human race," Spock replied calmly and dispassionately. "In this lighter gravity, it is not difficult to lift weight such as this."

"Show off," Fred murmured as Spock stepped out of the room.

Together, they clattered and stumbled down the narrow stair case, finally depositing their loads in the living room, where they paused for a brief moment to get their breath back.

"If we split into groups," Mrs Weasley announced, "we should be able to decorate the house quickly."

"I'll go with you, Harry," Sirius said immediately, jumping at the chance to spend more time with his godson. Harry eagerly accepted, leaving Ron and Hermione in a group of two.

Needless to say, Fred and George deliberately avoided pairing themselves up with their mother and went together instead, much to Mrs Weasley's apparent disapproval, but she didn't comment, instead moving over to stand by Ginny's side.

Kirk, Spock and McCoy were left an odd number, since Moody had remained behind in Dumbledore's office after they'd left, presumably to further question the older wizard on the events of the day, and on their trustworthiness, despite the fact that both topics had already been discussed thoroughly.

Taking a box each and leaving the rest in the living room, the different groups drifted throughout the house, finally claiming a room each and getting to work.

Though in some cases, this was easier said than done.

"I do not see," Spock was saying even as Kirk and McCoy opened the box, "the necessity of this ritual."

"It's not a ritual," Kirk explained patiently, "it's a celebration, a way to have fun with people you know."

"I have already observed the practice," Spock continued. "I see no need to do so again."

"Think of it as...re-evaluating your data on the topic of Christmas," Kirk said, rummaging around in the box. "No experiment is complete after one run. You have to compare your evidence before you draw your conclusion."

Spock seemed to consider this, head tilted to one side slightly. "Very well."

Kirk grinned at him. "Good. Now," he held up two colours of tinsel, "the red or the green?"

"There are no qualities with which to distinguish one as being superior to the other."

"For the love of God, Spock," McCoy groaned, "just pick a colour."

"As you wish, Leonard. Green."

"How did I know you were going to say that?" McCoy asked the room at large, hauling a disturbingly real likeness of Santa Claus out of the box.

"You know him too well," Kirk replied.

"After all our arguments, that hardly surprises me," McCoy snorted. He held the object up for inspection, turning it this way and that to get a better look at it in the light. "This is a bit _too_ realistic."

Without warning, the miniature man twitched, and McCoy dropped it as though burnt, staring at it in incredulity.

Kirk paused in hanging up the red piece of tinsel. "What?"

"It moved."

The blond walked over to McCoy and squatted on the floor, picking up the object and examining it closely. "Bones, I think your paranoia is getting to you. It's as still as a statue."

McCoy decided to ignore the typically bad pun from the Captain. "I'm telling you Jim, it moved!"

"That is illogical, Leonard."

McCoy glared. "You can't tell me," he snapped at the Vulcan, "that after all we've seen in this universe, you still think it's illogical for inanimate objects to move."

"I do not hold that belief," Spock said calmly, "in relation to this universe. I do, however, fail to comprehend your continued insistence on the fact that it moved."

McCoy stared at him as though he'd sprung antlers. "It _did_ move."

"Of course," Spock replied.

McCoy continued to gape.

Spock, if he had been human, would have sighed at that point and run his hands through his hair, but as it was he simply placed his hands behind his back and counted to five, trusting a lifetime of discipline to overcome the mounting frustration. "Leonard, I do not doubt the fact that the object moved. I do, however, doubt its continued movement, since it is obviously still."

"I'm not saying it's _moving_," McCoy finally snapped, "I'm saying it's _moved_!"

"You are suggesting that we observe it for signs of further movement."

"Yes."

"That will not happen," Spock said patiently, "because it undoubtedly will not do so while it is being observed. If my understanding of the nature of magic is correct, it has been charmed in order to surprise. Now that we are aware of its abilities, it is not likely that it will perform the same action again."

McCoy groaned and resisted the urge to smash his head into the wall. "Why do you even have to make _magic_ sound logical?"

"You probably shouldn't answer that," Kirk said quietly.

"I had no intention of doing so."

"Good. Just checking."

McCoy growled and slammed the Santa Claus onto a table top. It promptly made a face at him and sprouted razors from its fingers, causing McCoy to leap back and yelp in shock. "I thought you said," he shouted furiously, "that it wouldn't move anymore!"

"You are mistaken," Spock replied. "I commented on the possibility that it would not move for as long as you were suspecting of its intentions. Did you expect it to grow metal claws?"

"Of course not!"

Spock nodded his head, as though everything made sense and then turned back to the decorations that he was putting up, allowing McCoy to fume in silence.

"This is ridiculous! How am I supposed to expect it to move all the time so that it doesn't surprise me?"

"You don't," Kirk chuckled, "because you've put it down."

McCoy rolled his eyes. "Don't start, Jim. I have enough trouble just arguing with _Spock_ about this."

"As this is causing you unprecedented levels of stress, Leonard," Spock commented, not taking his eyes of the tinsel, "I recommend caution upon further examining the contents of the box."

"Thank you," McCoy muttered sarcastically. "I'll keep that in mind."

"You are welcome."

McCoy muttered a short prayer and resisted the urge to bury his face in his hands. "This universe," he decided, "hates me."

"That-"

"Spock," McCoy growled, "do me a favour and shut up."

For several minutes they emptied the box in silence and watched the room slowly transform into a slightly less grim space, the tinsel playing on the light to give the impression of warmth and homeliness that had never existed before. The mood gradually faded into contentment as all of the major ornaments were placed in appropriate areas, leaving just a couple of reindeer lying innocently at the bottom of the box.

McCoy eyed them warily. "They look too innocent."

"For once, Bones, I think I agree with you."

"That's a novelty."

"The only way to find out what they do, if anything, is to pick them up," Kirk decided.

No one moved, and the tension in the air was tangible.

McCoy uttered a hoarse laugh. "We're scared of plastic reindeer."

"I believe that the pervading emotion within yourself and Jim, Leonard, is that of apprehension rather than fear."

McCoy snorted. "You just keep on thinking that."

Spock stepped forward, reached out, and picked one up. McCoy made an involuntary movement, as though he was considering diving to the floor but thought better of it at the last moment.

Nothing happened, and Kirk looked at the remaining reindeer in faint disappointment. "I half expected them to start flying around the-"

"Don't say it," McCoy interrupted, putting a hand up to stop Kirk's next words. "It could trigger a reaction."

"Are you finished yet?" Sirius asked, casually walking into the room. "Everyone else is getting ready to have dinner and I thought I'd tell you."

"We only have to sort out these reindeer," Kirk explained, taking them from Spock gently and placing them gingerly on a nearby table.

"Careful," McCoy muttered as Kirk lifted his hand off them. "Not too fast, Jim..."

Kirk's hand knocked one of them and McCoy flinched without noticing, stepping one pace closer to Spock as Jim righted the display.

Sirius stared at them in bemusement from the doorway. "Is something wrong?"

"Leonard has assumed that, given the nature of numerous other ornaments, these plastic reindeer harbour some degree of danger to his person."

"Mainly flying," Kirk added.

Sirius glanced from the reindeer to McCoy and back again, a slow smile splitting his face. "Those are harmless," he chuckled. "As a matter of fact, they're Muggle-made – they used to go in my bedroom, since no one else could stand the sight of them."

"Then why did they buy them?" Kirk asked.

"They didn't – I did. The only charm that I put on them made sure that no one else could touch them, so that they wouldn't get thrown out or burnt to a cinder. The only reason that the Santa was acting like that is because my brother happened to get to it before I could, and decided it would be hilarious to have a plastic doll try to bite my fingers off every year...Now, if you've finished," he said abruptly, before anyone could comment, walking out of the room, "it's time for dinner."


	28. Christmas with Sirius

**28. Christmas with Sirius.**

"There's something about this house," McCoy said the next morning as he stared into the eyes of a long beheaded house elf, "that disturbs me."

Kirk snorted. "Normally I'd remind you that everything disturbs you, but you're actually right this time."

"Unquestionably."

"What kind of a lunatic," McCoy continued, "would cut off the heads of former house elves and then mount them on a wall?"

"I'm not sure I want to find out," Kirk replied grimly.

"Indeed. It does appear as though this establishment at one point in time housed dark magic."

"That makes me feel a whole lot better," McCoy groaned.

"If Spock agrees with you that probably means you're right..."

"Which _also_ doesn't help, Jim."

"It is undeniable," Spock said seriously. "There is an atmosphere of-"

"Ghostly menace," Kirk interrupted.

Spock nodded. "Precisely."

"Maybe the portrait of Mrs Black is the key," McCoy murmured thoughtfully. "She obviously hates Sirius, if 'blood traitor' is anything to go by."

"Traitor," Spock continued, "implies an act of treachery. One would assume that, given the fact that Mrs Black remains in the household and the apparent adoration of her-"

"Adoration?" McCoy repeated, snorting.

"As always, Leonard, there is another opinion to the given situation. Whilst the majority-"

"Everyone."

Spock visibly restrained himself from sighing. "Please allow me to continue, Leonard."

"...Sorry."

Kirk rolled his eyes at both of them. "Like an old married couple."

"As I was saying," Spock said, "it is not possible for everyone to display feelings of loathing with regards to the portrait of Mrs Black, as is shown when one considers the opinion of Kreacher."

"Kreacher?"

"You may recall, Jim, that Mr Black called for "Kreacher" and proceeded to curse the "wretched elf". It is my conclusion that Kreacher is the house elf whom we encountered upon our arrival."

"You think he adores Mrs Black."

"Undoubtedly. I have heard him speak highly of her."

"I never heard anything."

"I do not believe that he spoke at a volume detectable by human ears whilst you were present, Leonard."

"Bat Ears strikes again," McCoy murmured.

"So Kreacher adores a previous owner of the house," Kirk summarised.

"Indeed. He, too, spoke of 'blood traitors'."

"You think Sirius killed her?" McCoy asked in shock. "Betrayed his bloodline by murdering her?"

"That is plausible," Spock conceded.

"Other options?" Kirk asked brusquely, though his expression revealed he had a good idea.

"There is also the possibility of the prejudiced views of Death Eaters, who believe that blood purity amongst wizards is to be preserved by the exclusion of associating with anyone of 'lower' status."

"So he could have married," Kirk deduced.

"That is also an option; however I have seen no evidence to support this."

"It might not be here," McCoy pressed. "We have no way of knowing whether or not a wife was discovered or worse."

"Short of asking him," Kirk said, "we might never know."

"We're not _asking_ him something like that!"

"I never said we should," Kirk backpedalled, raising his hands. "It would be insensitive."

"Damn right."

"In the meantime," Kirk continued, "we can only speculate."

"What if," McCoy said suddenly, "he didn't literally betray them."

"You are referencing ideology," Spock stated.

"Precisely!" McCoy exclaimed.

"Bones!" Kirk hissed, looking around briefly to see if they'd been overheard.

"It is possible," Spock murmured, nodding his approval in McCoy's direction, "that rather than adhering to – I hear footsteps," he said suddenly. "Someone is approaching."

"There you are!" Ron suddenly exclaimed, having come up the stairs and flung open the door to the bedroom. "Why're you all huddled up here? It's breakfast."

"We were discussing the Enterprise," Kirk replied smoothly.

"You can do that downstairs," Ron said. "Breakfast is getting cold..." His voice trailed off as he walked out the door and onto the landing, obviously expecting them to follow.

"Keep an eye open," Kirk said quietly.

"We're spying on him?"

"Bones, we're in a house obviously meant for wizards. Dark wizards. There could be anything here, and we can't let anything slip. Dumbledore might have told us anything, if he thought it relevant, that we won't recognise as being vital."

"That's not exactly likely."

"There is nothing to be lost by being cautious," Spock said.

Ron poked his head back around the door. "Are you coming or what?"

"We're coming," Kirk replied, giving the other two warning looks before following the teenager out the room.

"Mum's taking over from Keacher in the kitchen while she's here for cooking," Ron said, walking noisily down the stairs, "so we'll be safe from food poisoning."

"I'm sure that Kreacher's not that bad a cook."

Ron snorted at Kirk. "You're lucky you won't have to find out, then, if that's what you think. Once," he said, wincing at the memory, "he gave Harry live worms instead of spaghetti, and for tomato sauce he used-"

"I am certain," Spock interrupted, noticing the pallor of his two companions, "that the information you are about to give us is not vital."

Ron had the good grace to look slightly embarrassed. "Right...er – sorry about that. Wouldn't want to put you off your baked beans..."

"I didn't need that image," McCoy complained as they pushed open the door to a dining room, where everyone else had already sat down and begun eating.

"I see you've finally surfaced," Sirius said lightly, though he shot an unreadable glance at Spock.

"I'm sorry we're late," Kirk said to the room at large, sitting down next to Harry while McCoy and Spock took their own chairs. "We didn't realise..."

"Oh, don't worry about it dear," Mrs Weasley said hurriedly. "Now, would you like some baked beans?" She asked Spock, who had sat next to her.

At Spock's nod, she ladled a generous amount onto his plate. "Some bacon?"

"I do not consume meat."

"Oh," she replied, "well, you don't know what you're missing out on, dear, no full English breakfast is complete without all of the ingredients...some toast?"

This time, without waiting for an answer she dumped three pieces of toast on top of his baked beans.

"I thought it was beans _on_ toast, Mum," Fred joked.

"I'm sure that Spock is perfectly capable of arranging it however he likes," Mrs Weasley replied, though she did give the plate an anxious side long glance.

"It is of no consequence," Spock said.

"Good, good..." Mrs Weasley murmured distractedly as she eyed the plate at the far end of the table. "Sirius, could you pass the mushrooms?"

From across the table, the twins shot Spock knowing grins.

"Some mushrooms, dear?" She had retrieved the plate and was now holding it poised over Spock's food.

"I-"

"There you go," she replied, dumping them on top of the mountain of toast.

Fred was now sniggering into his cup.

"Some eggs?"

"Mrs Weasley-"

"Oh, call me Molly, dear, everyone else does...some hashbrowns?"

She dumped more onto his plate. Spock was beginning to look slightly out of his depth.

"...Molly-"

"Yes?" She had already yet more food and was about to dump that onto his over burdened plate as well.

"I assure you, I have a sufficient quantity of food."

"Nonsense," she admonished, running a critical eye over him. "You need feeding up."

"I am quite content to-"

"It's alright," McCoy interrupted, coming to Spock's rescue when he saw yet more food drifting closer, "Spock's healthy. As a young Vulcan, he's at ideal weight."

Mrs Weasley considered them for a moment before mercifully putting the food back down. "Eat up," she ordered.

"You'll need stamina for that," Fred sniggered, staring at the mountain of food.

"Indeed. Fortunately, Vulcans have been forced, through association with various illogical species, to develop that quality in abundance..."

There was laughter round the table, the only exceptions being Sirius and Spock.

"Bad news for the rest of us, then."

The table went quiet and several heads turned to stare at Sirius, who was eying Spock with obvious distaste.

"I beg your pardon?"

"A Slytherin with stamina," Sirius spat, hate dripping from his voice. "There's nothing worse than a determined _snake_."

"Mr Black-" Spock began, but Sirius cut him off.

"Tell me, are you all like that, or is it something that greasy git teaches you?"

"I do not know to whom you are referring," Spock said quietly, the humoured twinkle disappearing from his eyes.

"Sirius," warned Mrs Weasley.

"_Snape_," Sirius spat. "He's your Head of House, isn't he, or has he finally been sacked?"

"_Sirius_."

"Maybe it's genetic," the man continued, ignoring Mrs Weasley. "I've never met a Slytherin who wasn't rotten to the very core."

"Mr Black," Spock said calmly, "I am not as you perceive."

"Of course not," Sirius sneered. "They all say that – think that by putting on the round blue eyes and sweet voice they can talk themselves out of anything. Slippery as eels, your lot – always lying and scheming-"

"That is enough," Spock said, voice steely, though his appearance remained impassive.

"It's what you are – or are you afraid to hear it? I wouldn't be surpri-"

"SIRIUS!" Mrs Weasley shouted over the rant, bringing the man up short. "That isn't how we treat guests!"

"He's no guest of mine."

"He's a guest of Dumbledore's," Mrs Weasley countered, her voice giving no room for arguments, "and you will treat him as one!"

"This is _my_ house!" Sirius had stood up by now, his chair lying abandoned on the floor.

"It also happens to be Headquarters."

"As if I could forget," Sirius spat bitterly. "This is such a hive of activity, as you can tell."

"You know very well why you can't-"

"Of course I know why!" Sirius roared. "After all I've done for the Order-"

"This," Mrs Weasley interrupted furiously, "is about your safety, Sirius – it'd be suicide to let you leave now."

"I could change-"

"You've been _recognised_!" Mrs Weasley exclaimed. "You can't leave the house, Sirius, and you would do better to accept that and put up with it than moping around antagonising guests like an adolescent boy!"

Throwing her a filthy look, Sirius stormed out of the room, throwing his empty plate through the kitchen doorway as he went. There was a brief shriek of surprise from Kreacher, who was cleaning, and the slamming of a door.

Mrs Weasley stood, breathing hard and still slightly red in the face from her fury. "I'll help Kreacher clean that up..." she ground out to no – one in particular, disappearing through the door.

Everyone was momentarily silenced by shock.

Ron was the first to speak. "Blimey..."

"That doesn't even begin to cover it, little bro," George replied.

"I knew Sirius was angry about nor being involved with the Order," Harry muttered miserably, "but I didn't know..."

"He felt so strongly about it?" Hermione asked gently, when Harry didn't finish. "Sirius is just restless; he'll calm down." She didn't sound entirely convinced.

"Eventually," Ginny muttered, staring glumly at one of her fried eggs before poking viciously at it with her fork.

Despite Ginny's doubts, the mood within the household remained for the most part cheery, as Sirius' excitement at finally having company outweighed his evident loathing for Spock. In the days leading up to Christmas, he remained the life and soul of the group, forever telling farfetched and hilarious stories from his seemingly endless list of childhood escapades. He and Harry often spent time discussing Harry's parents, Sirius always managing to keep the conversation light-hearted, focussing on their friendship during the Hogwarts years rather than the difficult years afterwards.

This enthusiasm never waned, even when presented with the huge list of chores which Mrs Weasley had drawn up for them in her quest to make the house more comfortable. Finally, after even Christmas Eve had been spent sweeping and cleaning, they retreated to their respective rooms, the teasing between them gradually dying down as everyone drifted to sleep.

Throughout the night even the mutterings of Kreacher could not be heard as he trundled from room to room, searching for ancient family heirlooms which he could hide from the house's current occupants. The ceaseless wind and rain which so characterised the British winter climate had even provided a respite, allowing for a silence and peacefulness where time seemed to stop, and all the Christmas legends came alive.

The first rays of sunshine filtered lazily through the thin curtains to the officers' room, giving the walls a soft, slightly arctic glow as the sun struggled through thick cloud.

With a yawn and a stretch, the household awoke, bleary sleep filled eyes drawing as though magnetised to the presents at the bottom of beds. Yelps and gasps of surprise drifted through the door of the bedroom, stirring awake the three occupants inside it.

Lying on his back, Kirk allowed his mind to settle and wake up, noticing as he did so that he still felt warm. "Spock?"

"I am here."

"Is your duvet still warm?"

"Indeed it is, Jim. I believe that heating charms were placed on them yesterday."

"That would explain why I don't feel like an icicle this morning," McCoy drawled from his own bed.

Although none of them could see it happening, they knew what was happening to Spock's eyebrow. "Most illogical, Leonard."

"You probably felt ten times worse," McCoy retorted, "so don't tell me you're not grateful."

There was a soft creak of springs as Spock levered himself up in bed, probably to fix what McCoy had termed a "Vulcan Glare of Doom" on the doctor, when he stopped short, achieving a strange limbo between vertical and horizontal.

"Curious," he murmured, coming back to himself enough to finish the manoeuvre into a sitting position.

"What is?" Kirk asked, feeling vaguely unwilling to move as he continued to soak up the warmth of his duvet.

"We appear," Spock said, tone as perplexed as he would allow it, "to have received gifts."

McCoy promptly sat up in surprise, smacking his head on the bottom of the top bunk. "Damn it..." he growled.

Kirk chuckled and gracefully swung himself off the top bunk, crouching level with his friend. "You know what they say, Bones, no moving before your brain's re-booted."

McCoy groaned and rolled out of bed, wincing as several joints clicked. "I'm getting too old for bunk beds..."

"It is my understanding that the apparatus you name a 'bunk bed' is designed to function for members of your species of a significantly less advanced age."

"They are," Kirk replied, halting McCoy's sharp retort.

"In that case," Spock amended, "I believe that I am beginning to understand the source of Leonard's distress."

"You're lucky you're the tallest," McCoy snapped, "or I would have taken the bed. Those things," he jabbed a finger at the bunk bed, "are too damn short."

"Given that they are designed for small persons, I hardly find that surprising."

"They could have at least used magic to lengthen it to fit our height..."

"There's no room," Kirk said, indicating the small area, which was cramped enough as it was.

"I'd still have liked the offer."

Kirk chuckled, slapping his friend on the back. "Consider yourself lucky, Bones. This was all they had."

"Indeed," Spock inserted. "Given the lack of accommodation, it would have been hardly surprising should they have offered for you to inhabit the same room in which Buckbeak is situated. Judging from the behavioural patterns of both parties, I believe that the arrangement would have been, at the least, compatible."

McCoy seemed to spontaneously begin choking.

Kirk laughed heartily at McCoy's expression. "It's Christmas, Spock, I'm sure that Bones would appreciate a day's break from the arguments."

Spock inclined his head. "Of course, Jim."

The door opened slowly and Harry cautiously poked his head around it, grinned when he saw they were awake, then shuffled quietly into their room, Ron close behind.

"Everyone is either asleep or getting ready," he filled them in, sitting at the foot of Kirk's bed, "and we wanted to see whether you liked your gifts."

"It was not necessary to purchase anything."

Harry shrugged. "We wanted to."

"We have no way of giving you anything back," Kirk said. "We don't have any money."

"Don't worry about it," Ron said through a mouthful of sweets, "just open them."

McCoy narrowed his eyes. "You're eating sweets before breakfast."

Ron swallowed hastily. "It's Christmas," he said by way of explanation before cramming more into his mouth and sitting back to watch the show.

Rolling his eyes at the teenager, McCoy opened the first of his parcels, blinking in slight surprise when a book fell onto his lap.

"That's from Hermione," Harry explained.

"She bought everyone a homework planner," Ron muttered in distaste.

"I definitely need it..."

"That is true," Spock agreed.

Glaring, McCoy flipped to a random page and jerked in surprise when a ready, irritating voice burst into speech. "_Do it today or you'll pay!"_

McCoy snapped the book shut before it could say anymore.

"It does that on every page," Ron grimaced.

"Me and Ron clubbed together to buy the books," Harry explained, pointing to the green packages lying on each bed.

A few seconds and much ripping later, McCoy was holding an unbelievably large book entitled "Medicinal Herbs and Where to Find Them", detailing every known ingredient used in potion making, along with their properties and which ailments they could cure.

Kirk, meanwhile, was grinning at an equally large tome entitled "Famous Witches and Wizards," along with a small biography of each one and the contributions they made both to the wizarding and muggle worlds.

Spock had already begun to read in intimidatingly large book, eyebrow raising as he considered the text before him. "Fascinating."

"What?" Kirk and McCoy asked in unison.

"This book describes, in extensive detail, literary discussions and debates between known authors of the wizard world, who are unknown to the Muggle population. Particularly of interest are the tales of Beedle the Bard and his attempt, through the use of metaphor and appeal to the human enjoyment of reading, to engage the-"

"Spock," McCoy interrupted, "we get the general idea."

"We thought you'd like that one," Ron grinned.

Spock looked up and said sincerely, "My compliments for a wise purchase."

"No problem," Harry replied, nodding his head at the remaining packages. "Do you want to look at what the others got you?"

"They didn't tell us," Ron added angrily.

"Because the last time they did you told everyone what it was," Harry reminded him.

"_You_ know?"

Harry's only response was a very wide grin.

Ron scowled. "Great. Everyone knows but me..."

"That's from Fred and George," Harry explained as the next packages were unwrapped to reveal a small mountain of sweets for each person. "It's all wizard candy, of course, because they know you haven't tried it."

"There aren't any of those every flavour things, are there?" McCoy asked warily.

"Of course there are!" Ron exclaimed. "You can't have wizard candy without Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans!"

"Bones had a bad first experience with them," Kirk explained.

There was a rustle of paper and Spock held up a bright green garment, examining it in the light. "Fascinating..."

"That's Mum's work. She always knits everyone a jumper."

Spock turned it round so that his two colleagues could see, eyebrow raised as he held it up to himself. Caught innocently in the act of dancing, a Christmas elf stared back at them.

"It suits you," McCoy drawled, his face split into a wide grin. "You can't deny it."

"So it would seem..." Spock's voice trailed off as he promptly shoved the jumper over his head to try it on for size. He emerged with his hair tousled, logical expression contrasting adorably with the design.

"I wish I had a camera," Kirk said, the smile never leaving his face.

"We probably do somewhere," Ron said.

"Don't tell me," McCoy chuckled, "that you're going to wear that down there."

"Once I have replaced my pyjamas with suitable attire, the jumper shall be an addition, yes. It is, after all, the purpose of the garment."

Kirk held his up for a brief inspection and then followed Spock's lead, revealing that he was a reindeer. "I'll keep you company."

"Everyone'll be wearing theirs too," Ron said, when McCoy hesitated slightly. "It's tradition."

Giving in, McCoy pulled it over his head and tugging it down, causing everyone to laugh.

"What?"

"I never knew Mum would do that," Ron choked out.

"What did she do?"

"Take a look in the mirror, mate."

Walking over to the wardrobe and opening a door to reveal a full length mirror, McCoy stopped dead and gaped.

"I'm..." he whipped around to face everyone else. "I'm a _tree_. I'm not even a character, damn it, I'm a _tree_!"

"A good looking tree," Kirk quipped.

McCoy threw a pillow at him.

"Breakfast!" Mrs Weasley called up the stairs, waking in the process anyone who happened to still be asleep.

"Open Ginny's presents," Ron urges. "If you're quick we can get them done before we go down."

Obediently, they opened the packages, revealing the novel "1984" for Kirk, "Medicine through the ages," for McCoy, and "The Complete and Foolproof Dictionary of Idioms" for Spock, which was handwritten.

"We weren't sure what to get," Ron explained, "so Ginny remembered your arguments with Bones and got everyone from our House to chip in with phrases they knew."

"Maybe now you'll finally understand me," McCoy teased.

"The odds of such an event have improved significantly," Spock replied, dead pan.

The door creaked open once more, and Ginny stuck her head in. "Mum's on the war path," she warned, "Percy sent back his jumper back again."

"The git," Ron spat, going slightly red in anger.

"What?" McCoy asked. "Who's Percy?"

"Our older idiot of a brother," Ginny replied. "He refuses to talk to the entire family because he reckons Fudge is right and You-Know-Who isn't out there."

"He's mental!" Ron continued.

"We've known that for years," Ginny replied firmly. "You lot should come down, unless you want mum on your backs and stone cold breakfast."

Placing their gifts on their respective beds, they followed Ginny out of the room, thanking her and all others for the gifts as they went.

"Who's that for?" Ron asked, nodding at the package in Hermione's hands.

"I bought a little something for Kreacher," she replied brightly.

"It had better not be clothes!" Ron warned, uncharacteristically serious. "You know what Sirius said: Kreacher knows too much, we can't set him free!"

"It isn't clothes, although if I had my way I'd certainly give him something to wear other than that filthy old rag. No, it's a patchwork quilt; I thought it would brighten up his bedroom."

"What bedroom?" Harry asked.

"Well," Hermione replied, clearly uncomfortable, "Sirius says it's not so much a bedroom, more a kind of – _den_. Apparently, he sleeps under the boiler in the cupboard off the kitchen."

"So," Ron asked as they entered the room, "is this it?" He walked over to the dingy door tucked into a corner.

"Yes," Hermione replied. "Er...I think we'd better knock."

Without any hesitation, Ron rapped the door, rolling his eyes when there was no answer. "He must be sneaking around upstairs." He yanked the door open. "_Urgh_!"

The room, barely big enough to be a cupboard, housed an old fashioned boiler which looked as though it was on its last legs. Rumpled into a heap were a few old, soiled blankets, smelling as though they had never been washed. Scattered haphazardly around, as though they had been forgotten, were stiff slices of bread, and cheese so past its sell by date that it had gone almost completely blue. Among the miserable nest, bits of silver gleamed; salvaged heirlooms which Kreacher had stolen when no one had been looking.

"How can he live like this?" McCoy asked in shock.

"He's a house elf," Ron shrugged, clearly unconcerned.

McCoy stared at him. "You're talking about a fellow living being!"

"I agree with you," Hermione said before Ron could reply, giving him a brief glare, "it's simply dreadful, the way they're treated, that's why I set up SPEW."

"SPEW?" Spock asked.

"The Society for the Promotions of Elfish Welfare," Hermione explained.

"But house elves are _meant_ to work for us," Ron argued. "It's the way it is. Until they're given clothes, they can't be free, but they won't accept the clothes. That's the point – it's as much their fault as ours."

Hermione opened her mouth to argue, but Harry laid a hand on her arm and nodded his head at the bundle. "The present?"

"Right – I'll just leave it here," she placed it on top of the rags. "He'll find it later, that'll be fine."

"Come to think of it," Sirius said, entering the room with a large turkey in hand, "has anyone actually seen Kreacher lately?"

"I haven't seen him since yesterday," Harry replied. "You were ordering him out of the kitchen."

Sirius frowned. "Yeah...you know, I think that's the last time I saw him, too – he almost set the kitchen on fire, was even worse a cook than usual, actually, which is pretty difficult...he must be hiding somewhere upstairs."

"It is possible," Spock said, "that when you ordered him 'out' he may have interpreted a meaning different than the one intended."

"No," Sirius snapped, "house elves can't leave unless they're given clothes. They're tied to their family's house."

"They can leave if they really want to," Harry insisted. "Dobby did, he left the Malfoys' to give me warnings two years ago. He had to punish himself afterwards," he added quickly, "but he still did it."

"I'll look for him later," Sirius said with an attempt at carelessness. "I expect I'll find him upstairs crying his eyes out over my mother's old bloomers or something." He smirked unpleasantly. "Of course, he might have crawled into an airing cupboard and died...but I mustn't get my hopes up."

"That," Spock said over the laughter from the Weasley siblings, "was unnecessarily malevolent."

"Nobody cares," Sirius enunciated, "about Kreacher, or about what you think. If Dumbledore didn't make sure you were both kept here, I'd have thrown you on to the street long ago."

There was a short, heavy silence.

"That is, of course, your right," Spock said diplomatically, expression carefully neutral.

Sirius' eyes bore into Spock's. "Glad we've reached an agreement on _something_. Now," he added brightly, ignoring Spock completely, "who'd like some Christmas brunch?"

"This," Kirk declared as they took the first bites of the meal some time later, "is what real turkey tastes like."

Ginny shrugged. "What else would it be?"

"It's just a long time since I had a real, non-synthesised one," Kirk explained, downing another piece. "The replicator makes it taste like dirty toilet roll."

"And you know that through experience, do you?" Fred asked, grinning.

Kirk grimaced. "Some things are better left unsaid."

The answering laughs were echoed throughout the meal, smiles all around the table as everyone talked and reminisced, which occasionally involved jokes at someone else's expense. It was with full stomachs and satisfied minds that they lounged back in their seats a long while later, the buzz of conversation having become lazy and slightly patchy.

Mrs Weasley was, of course, the only member of the household still showing impatience, despite it being Christmas Day. "Hurry up," she urged, clambering to her feet, "Arthur's expecting us and we'll be late unless we leave now."

"Oh come on Mum," George moaned, "Dad won't mind if we're a bit late."

"He's your _father_," Mrs Weasley retorted angrily, "and he's in the hospital on Christmas Day! He deserves a visit where we're on time for once!" She gazed pointedly round at everyone, as though accusing them of being solely responsible for their usual lateness.

Reluctantly getting to their feet, they swiftly gathered their things and left for St Mungo's. The journey was, fortunately in the opinion of Spock, event free and they were left in peace to get off at the required stop, where they found very few people milling around the high street.

Checking in with the welcome witch at the desk, they hastily made their way to Mr Weasley's usual room, noticing that the two occupants who had been there for their last visit were unchanged in condition.

Mrs Weasley descended to her husband's side at once, planting a kiss firmly on his lips, which caused several rounds of false gagging between Fred and George. "How are you, dear?"

"Fine, fine," Mr Weasley said unconvincingly after gently taking the presents his wife was handing out to him. "You – er – haven't seen Healer Smethwyck, have you?"

Mrs Weasley narrowed her eyes slightly and stared at her husband for an unnervingly long time without blinking. "No," she said finally, "why?"

"Nothing," Mr Weasley said hastily, "nothing!" He quickly turned his attention to unwrapping the presents. "Well, everyone, good day so far? What did you all get for Christmas?"

Mrs Weasley, having not accepted his reply, was currently checking his bandages, her face becoming stony. "Arthur," she said, her voice hard with suspicion, "you've had your bandages changed. Why have you had your bandages changed early, Arthur? They told me they wouldn't need doing until tomorrow."

Mr Weasley attempted to scramble away from her grip, looking frightened. "What? No, no – it's nothing – it's...I-" He appeared to suddenly give up, sighing as the fight went out of him. "Well – now don't get upset, Molly, but Augustus Pye had an idea...he's the Trainee Healer, you know, lovely young chap and very interested in...um...complementary medicine...I mean, some of these old Muggle remedies..." he ploughed on despite Mrs Weasley's obviously increasing fury. "Well, they're called _stitches_, Molly, and they work very well on – on Muggle wounds-"

At Mrs Weasley's growl, everyone scampered away from the bed with the exception of the three officers and the three students. "Do you mean to tell me," she said, voice unbendable as steel, "that you have been messing about with Muggle remedies?"

McCoy decided to step in. "That's partly my fault, Mrs Weasley," he said, his voice calm in the face of her anger. "I suggested that he keep up the experiment, since the magical-"

Mrs Weasley ignored him. "It sounds," she said, words rising in pitch, "as though, _whatever_ the motivation," she glanced fleetingly at McCoy, "you've been trying to sew your skin back together, but even you, Arthur, wouldn't be _that_ stupid..."

"I fancy a cup of tea," Harry said suddenly, sprinting to the door along with the remaining audience.

"That's the general idea..." Mr Weasley muttered meekly, averting his gaze as his wife began to turn puce.

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN, THAT'S THE GENERAL IDEA?" Mrs Weasley screeched, making several other patients jump.

"I mean that..." He floundered for a moment, clearly trying to find the right words which would hopefully not incense her further.

"It's a widely practiced technique," McCoy interjected, sparing Mr Weasley the trouble. "They even had us study it at the Academy as part of the First Aid course in case we were stranded without-"

"It's barbaric!" She interrupted, glaring at both of them. "How could you encourage Arthur to do this, you're a _doctor_, you know the risk!"

"It was either that," McCoy snapped, finally losing his patience, "or let him spend the rest of his life taking Blood Replenishing Potions, or bleed to death!"

"The antidote-"

"Wasn't very far along when your husband asked me for my opinion!" McCoy interrupted, infuriating her even further. "My job is to heal, and since that was the only option I could see, I advised it!"

"Maybe," she screeched, "you should leave the advice to someone who knows a bit more about wizard medicine!"

"Mrs Weasley," Spock said calmly, "I fail to comprehend your difficulty in accepting this route of treatment."

"He's sewing himself together!" She repeated furiously.

"Indeed, that is part of the process, however," Spock replied, still unruffled, "it has proven successful on many occasions. As a matter of fact, many doctors in our timeline utilise the method when no other alternative is available. In this instance, the choice was logical."

"The potion is coming along, Molly," Mr Weasley said quickly, pressing the advantage of her momentary speechlessness, though he still looked slightly wary of her. "I'm sure that we won't need the stitches after all, but it's still worth a try."

Mrs Weasley sighed, and they could sense that the only thing which stopped her from arguing further was the rather stunned audience currently staring at them, and the fact that it was Christmas Day. "Arthur," she said in a much more controlled voice which, despite her best efforts, still contained some anger, "you must promise me – if the potion is finished, even," she added quickly, seeing his mouth open as though to speak, "if you have already found a way to make the stitches work, I want you to take it."

Mr Weasley nodded reluctantly. "There are ways of removing stitches," he said, though he glanced quickly at McCoy for confirmation.

Mrs Weasley seemed for the moment satisfied, though they knew that they would be hearing much more of this once they returned to Grimmauld Place. "Good. Right, then," she said with forced cheerfulness, "where have the others got to? It's time for us to leave, I think..."

She ducked down quickly to give her husband a quick kiss, a simple peck on the cheek this time, they noticed, and then bustled out the word, taking the remaining entourage who had not fled with her. Out of the corner of their eyes, they saw Mr Weasley lean back onto his pillows and close his eyes in a short sign of relief.


	29. Return to Hogwarts

**29. Return to Hogwarts.**

"_Aha!_"

With that one exclamation of vicious delight, the silence of the morning was obliterated, replaced by curious, thundering footsteps as everyone flocked to the source of the noise.

Exchanging a quick glance, Kirk, Spock and McCoy followed suit, rushing to the top of the stairs in time to see Sirius, in a musty corridor and surrounded by a watchful audience, glaring at Kreacher, who was clutching a book and muttering curses under his breath.

"So," Sirius exclaimed, looming over the elf, "you decided to come back, did you, you useless heap of shit?"

On behalf of Kreacher, Hermione flinched.

Kreacher's eyes narrowed and his hands tightened convulsively on the book. "The blood-traitor is attacking Kreacher," he muttered furiously, eyes never leaving Sirius, "he is disgracing his Mistress' wishes again – oh my poor Mistress-"

His voice broke off when Sirius snatched the book, which he had begun to stroke lovingly, out of his hands. "Got something else for me, Kreacher?"

"The touch of his hands insults my Mistress' book, if only she-"

"A book," Sirius spat, sparing a moment to read the title before throwing it to the floor in disgust, "from my _dear_ mother."

The words "_How To Preserve Blood Purity"_ seemed to reflect in Kreacher's large eyes even as the elf jerked involuntarily.

"Kreacher must get the book for his Mistress, but Kreacher has been ordered to stand still by the tr-"

"Tell me," Sirius said loudly, "where have you been skulking all this time? We've missed your filthy presence down here."

Kreacher maintained a loathing-filled silence.

"I order you to answer me," Sirius said angrily.

"Kreacher was in the attic," the elf reluctantly muttered.

"Why?"

"Kreacher wanted to rescue poor Mistress' book."

"I see," Sirius responded with equal contempt, stooping to pick up the object, which Kreacher was still eying hopefully. "I must have forgotten to throw this one out." He looked up and glared at the mutinously angry elf. "That's all, Kreacher. Maybe you should actually get some work done," he grabbed the protesting elf and threw him bodily down the stairs, ignoring the panicked shrieks, "for once."

Under the shocked gazes above, Kreacher hauled himself to his feet, straightened his rags and, dirty insults spewing from his wrinkled mouth, shuffled towards the kitchen.

With a brief jerk of his wand, Sirius slammed the door behind the elf, barring him from view.

"It's a pity he didn't die while he was up there."

Exchanging uneasy glances, the audience watched silently as Sirius stormed off, not even Fred and George daring to laugh.

"Blimey," Ron muttered, breaking the spell of shock, "what's got into him?"

A door slammed in the distance.

"No idea," Harry replied, wincing.

Sirius' mood continued to darken the closer they got to the date for return to Hogwarts. More and more he withdrew to the room in which he housed Buckbeak, staying there for hours on end and apparently brooding to such an extent that he was invariably more introverted when he returned to the group.

Finally, when Sirius had disappeared once more, leaving a disappointed and hurt looking Harry behind him, Spock had had enough. Ignoring questioning yet, on the part of Kirk and McCoy, knowing looks, he followed Sirius from the room, slipping almost soundlessly into Buckbeak's quarters.

"Mr Black," Spock said warily, closing the door behind him and remaining alert for signs of eavesdropping, "you must not continue to avoid your nephew."

He paused, weighing the human emotions screaming at him to continue against the stiff posture of the man before him, whose back was turned in order to hide the scowl of distrust. Finally, the need to warn another being, to stop him from making the same mistakes he had, caused him to take a step closer.

"There may be a time," he murmured, remembering for an instant the expression on his mother's face every time he shut her out, "when such a course of action may be regretted."

Sirius swung around to face him. "I'm not avoiding Harry," he said finally, voice and eyes harsh. Unrelenting.

Spock's eyebrow twitched, but he did not allow it to rise, instead keeping his features impassive. "Then what," he said softly, "do you propose you are doing currently?"

Sirius surveyed him for a moment before turning his back on him again, throwing Buckbeak another morsel of food. "I don't have to tell you."

"That is quite correct, you do not."

"Then why are you pestering me?" Sirius demanded irritably.

"Mr Black, I apologise for my apparent lack of finesse in this area of expertise," Spock said, voice slightly wry, "however, this is not a widely promoted practice among Vulcans."

"So don't waste your breath."

"I am merely attempting to render you assistance. Your actions, Mr Black, are beginning to cause emotional harm to both yourself and to Mr Potter. If this continues-"

"What do you know about emotions?" Sirius snapped voice heavy with irony.

Spock paused and contemplated the interruption, mind cataloguing and considering the different responses available before picking the most acceptable. "I am in constant contact with two highly emotional beings. I have learnt, somewhat, to identify the nuances of human behaviour."

Silence stretched between them for several moments. Sirius seemed to be resolutely ignoring Spock now, as though he was an itch that, after rubbing and prodding had proved futile, would simply fade away.

Spock did not move, but instead used the opportunity of silence, choosing his words carefully. "Mr Black, you have for an extended period of time been bereft of the opportunity to be in the presence of Mr Potter. Understandable if not regretful."

"But not my fault," Sirius snapped. "What's your point?"

"Perhaps you should, as you humans commonly say, 'make the most' of his presence. You do not know what the future may hold. If injury or accident should befall him-"

"Harry can take care of himself!"

Spock inclined his head. "Of that I have no doubt; however, the future is not predictable."

Sirius span around and raised his wand so quickly that, should a human be stood in Spock's place, the movement would have been too fast to see. "If you're threatening Harry-"

"That is not my intention," Spock said calmly, regarding the wand with apparent disinterest. "I am merely highlighting the facts. Should injury or accident befall him, you would be unable to reach him in your current predicament."

"Nothing," Sirius snarled, "could keep me from his side."

This time, Spock allowed his eyebrows to lift, but the rest of his features had softened slightly. "Yet you are here."

Sirius stared at him, a mixture of horror at the truth, and anger at who had revealed it twisting his features. "Who are you to dictate what I do?" He demanded suddenly, wand still raised, beginning to advance on Spock.

"It is not my intention to dictate."

"Save it," Sirius snapped. "I know what you're doing – you're trying to gain my trust."

"I am attempting," Spock said with a hint of frustration, "to prevent you from committing an error."

"You're _trying_," Sirius repeated, stepping closer, "to gain my trust so that you can use it!"

Spock opened his mouth to contradict him, but was forced to duck instead to avoid a curse.

"Don't argue with me! I know what you're doing," he advanced still closer, causing Spock to take his first step back, "and I don't need your _help_!"

Regret flickered in Spock's eyes but was repressed before Sirius could identify it. "Very well," he said tightly, walking out the door and closing it softly behind him, leaving Sirius alone with his thoughts.

"Well?" McCoy asked impatiently when Spock returned.

Aware that everyone was staring at him, Spock reclaimed his seat and sat down, face impassive as ever. "Mr Black refuses to listen to reason."

He resolutely ignored their glum expressions and opened one of the books he had received for Christmas, disappearing behind it.

As he began to drown his memories in the cold facts laid before him, he knew that he was being watched carefully by his captain.

Sirius' bad temper remained firmly in place for the days following Spock's advice, though he could still be seen occasionally eying Harry, his gaze unfathomable, his eyes slightly glazed as though he was preoccupied with something.

If Harry was unnerved by this, he never showed it. Instead, he allowed Sirius some time and space to think; as though he could somehow sense the effect he was having on his godfather. McCoy noticed with some concern that, though Harry laughed and joked with his friends as always, his green eyes retained a haunted quality, occasionally darting to where Sirius could be found brooding.

Whatever was going on between them, it was never spoken of, and McCoy decided not to pursue it.

Yet it was, unexpectedly, that last day of holidays which would bring them together, with the arrival of a shared hatred on their doorstep.

"Harry, Spock." Mrs Weasley poked her head round the door to the room in which a loud game of wizard chess was occurring. "Could you both come down to the kitchen? Professor Snape would like a word with you."

Spock, though he had been watching the game intently, stood up swiftly and was already halfway to the door when Harry spoke.

"Squash him – _squash him_, he's only a pawn, you idiot. Sorry, Mrs Weasley, what did you say?"

"Professor Snape, dear. In the kitchen. He'd like a word with you and Spock."

A horrified silence descended upon the room. Unnoticed, Crooshanks leapt onto the table and began attacking chess pieces with ferocious glee.

"Snape?" Harry repeated blankly.

"_Professor_ Snape, dear," Mrs Weasley emphasised. "Now come on, quickly, he says he can't stay long."

Mrs Weasley and Spock left the room, leaving everyone staring at Harry in shock.

"Well," Kirk chirped, "that's livened things up a bit."

"What's he want with you?" Ron asked, looking nervously at Harry. "You haven't done anything, have you?"

"Impossible," McCoy scoffed. "If Snape was here for punishment then he wouldn't need Spock."

"You'd better see what he wants then, mate," Ron advised, oblivious to the chess set lying in ruins behind him.

"Good luck!" Hermione called after the closing door.

Harry grimaced in reply before setting off down the stairs. Behind him, he could hear Ron swearing furiously at Crooshanks, and Hermione's angry voice simultaneously managing to both scold her cat and defend him against Ron.

A minute later, he opened the door to find Sirius and Snape sitting at opposite ends of the table, glaring in different directions. Between them and clearly unwilling to take sides was Spock, who glanced up as Harry entered the room.

"Er..." The boy seemed at a complete loss for words, clearly unsure how to diffuse the situation.

Snape's eyes jerked to Harry and fixed him immediately with an impatient glare. "Sit down and close the door, Potter."

"You know," Sirius said loudly even as Harry obeyed, "I think I'd prefer it if you didn't give orders here, Snape. It's my house, you see."

Spock remained wisely quiet as Harry took a seat beside Sirius, making the table awkwardly unbalanced, with two sides of mutual hatred and Spock in the middle.

"I was supposed to see you both alone," Snape said, ignoring Sirius' remark completely, "but Black-"

"I'm his godfather!"

"I am here on Dumbledore's orders," Snape said, his quiet voice contrasting Sirius' loud and belligerent tones, "but by all means stay, Black, I know you like to feel...involved."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Merely that I am sure you must feel – ah – frustrated by the fact that you can do nothing _useful_ for the Order."

Sirius flushed even as Snape's lip curled in triumph.

"Perhaps," Spock said quietly before Sirius could form a retort, "we should focus on the matter of discussion."

In acknowledgement of Spock's words Snape turned to Harry, ignoring Sirius' fixed glare. "The Headmaster has sent me to tell you, Potter, that it is his wish for you to study Occlumency this term. Mr Spock," he added in a slightly more neutral voice, "is privy to this information because he has already succeeded in blocking your mind from the Dark Lord. The Headmaster believes Mr Spock's awareness of your lessons to be advantageous, should you require any additional assistance with your studies."

Harry's face remained blank. "Study what?"

"Occlumency, Potter," Snape sneered. "The magical defence of the mind against external penetration. An obscure branch of magic, but a highly useful one."

"Why do I have to study Occlu-" Harry faltered, having already forgotten the term in his excitement, "thing?"

"It is called Occlumency," Spock intoned impassively. Harry spared him only a glance before returning his attention to Snape, who had started speaking once more.

"Because the Headmaster believes it is a good idea. You will receive private lessons from me once a week, but you will not tell anybody what you are doing, least of all Dolores Umbridge. You understand?" Here he glanced between both Harry and Spock.

"Affirmative."

"Yes," Harry muttered.

Sirius broke into the conversation, suddenly aggressive. "Why can't Dumbledore teach Harry? Why both of you?" He glared at the Slytherins with equal distrust.

"I suppose," Snape said smoothly, "because it is the headmaster's privilege to delegate less enjoyable tasks. I assure you," he added, standing up, "that I did not beg for the job. I will expect both of you at six o'clock on Monday evening. My office. If anybody asks, Potter, you are taking remedial Potions. Nobody who has seen you in my classes could deny you need them. You, Mr Spock, will simply express an extra-curricular interest in Potions. Perhaps you wish, should you be unable to return home, to enter the field."

Spock inclined his head in acknowledgement as Snape turned to leave, black cloak flapping behind him.

Sirius suddenly sat up straighter in his chair. "Wait a moment."

Snape turned impatiently back to face him, dark eyes glittering. "I am in rather a hurry, Black. Unlike you, I do not have unlimited leisure time."

Sirius stood up, emphasising his slightly taller frame while Snape's hand inconspicuously travelled to the pocket of his cloak. "I'll get to the point, then. If I hear you've been using the Occlumency lessons to give Harry a hard time, you'll have me to answer to."

"Pitting yourself against two Slytherins," Snape purred, "how touching. But surely you have noticed that Potter is very like his father?"

The faraway look re-entered Sirius' eyes, but a proud expression crossed his features. "Yes, I have."

"Well then," Snape said, going in for the kill, "you'll know he's so arrogant that criticism simply bounces off him."

Sirius crossed the room at lightning speed, pulling out his wand as he went, looking livid. Snape, in response, pulled his out quite calmly, his eyes calculating. Both Spock and Harry were suddenly on their feet, moving to prevent what would surely be a duel.

"Sirius!" Harry called. Both wizards ignored him.

"I've warned you, _Snivellus_," Sirius said menacingly, "I don't care if Dumbledore thinks you've reformed, I know better-"

"Oh?" Snape asked, his grip on his wand tightening as Spock's features flickered at this new information. "Why don't you tell him so? Or are you afraid he might not take very seriously the advice of a man who had been hiding in his mother's house for six months?"

"Tell me," Sirius snarled, "how is Lucius Malfoy these days? I expect he's delighted his lapdog's working at Hogwarts, isn't he?"

Spock, who had been forgotten by most in the room, kept his face impassive as the missing pieces of their puzzled out theory fell into place.

"Speaking of dogs, did you know that Lucius Malfoy recognised you last time you risked a little jaunt outside? Clever idea, Black, getting yourself seen on a safe station platform-"

Spock, seeing the situation was getting out of hand, moved to stand between them. "Gentlemen-"

"-gave you a cast iron excuse not to leave your hidey-hole in future," Snape finished, "didn't it?"

Sirius, inarticulate with rage, raised his wand.

"NO!" Harry yelled, joining Spock in between them as fast as he could manage, "Sirius, don't!"

"Are you calling me a coward?" Sirius tried to dodge around the living barriers to get at Snape, but Spock forcibly stopped him, one hand against his chest, his Vulcan strength keeping the man in place. "Get _off_ me!"

"Why yes," Snape said smugly, untouched by Spock and Harry, "I suppose I am."

"Harry!" Sirius roared as his godson dived for his wand arm, "-get-out-of-it!"

Just as Sirius finally succeeded in throwing Harry off his wand arm and moved to aim at Snape, the door opened to admit the entire Weasley family, Hermione, Kirk and McCoy, all of them smiling infectiously.

"Cured!" Mr Weasley announced to the room at large. "Completely cured!"

Kirk, who was the first to notice the scene, took a step into the room, leaving everyone else paralysed in the doorway. "Spock?"

Faces slightly surprised at having been caught in the act, both adults lowered their wands. Sighing in relief, Harry stepped back to Sirius' side. Spock, meanwhile, had let go of the formerly murderously angry man and approached Kirk.

"A...minor incident," he murmured. Kirk raised his eyebrows.

Snape pocketed his wand, turned sharply and headed for the front door, ignoring the Weasleys completely. "Six o'clock," he threw over his shoulder at Spock and Harry, "Monday evening."

As the door closed behind Snape, Sirius finally stowed his wand in his pocket.

"What's been going on?" Mr Weasley asked.

"Nothing, Arthur," Sirius replied, despite the fact that he was breathing hard. "Just a friendly chat between two old school friends." He smiled unconvincingly. "So...you're cured? That's great news, really great."

"Yes, isn't it?" Mrs Weasley replied, leading her husband to one of the few chairs that was still standing. "Healer Smethwyck worked his magic in the end, found an antidote to whatever that snake's got in its fangs, and Arthur's learned his lesson about dabbling in Muggle medicine, _haven't you dear?_"

Mr Weasley glanced at McCoy, who shrugged apologetically, before turning meekly back to his wife. "Yes, Molly, dear."

The atmosphere of that night's meal was strained, the interrupted conflict between Snape and Sirius never far from anyone's mind. Harry, in between furtive glances at a moody Sirius and after having argued the point of secrecy with Spock, explained to Ron, Hermione, Kirk and McCoy the reason behind Snape's unexpected visit.

"Dumbledore wants to stop you having those dreams about Voldemort," Hermione said practically, once Harry had finished. "Well, you won't be sorry not to have them anymore, will you?"

Ron looked much more sympathetic. "Extra lessons with Snape? I'd rather have the nightmares!"

Hermione rolled her eyes at him. "At least you're not alone, Harry."

Everyone involved in the conversation immediately turned to Spock.

"Can Vulcan mind techniques combine with Occlumency?" Kirk asked curiously.

"At this moment, I am not certain, as I possess limited knowledge on the subject of Occlumency. However, they appear to be of a similar nature."

"Has a human ever mastered Vulcan mental techniques before?"

Spock shook his head slightly. "Such an occurrence has never been recorded, Leonard."

"Wonderful," Harry muttered, stabbing at his food vehemently.

"However," Spock added, "that is little cause for concern. It is entirely possible that such occasions existed without the knowledge of the authorities. In addition, I am half human and am fully capable of performing them."

This didn't seem to cheer Harry much, despite both Hermione and Spock's efforts to encourage him.

The next morning found both Tonks and Lupin sitting at the breakfast table, ready to escort the large group back to Hogwarts via the Knight Bus. After a short explanation of their plans, the house was ablaze with emotional farewells, Sirius pressing something into Harry's hand before standing back, expression solemn.

The door of number twelve swung shut as the group descended onto the pavement, locking away the only escape from the frigid air.

McCoy gestured at Spock's hand triumphantly. "Now," he crowed, "your ears will be fine."

Kirk nodded in agreement, grinning madly. "It was considerate of Mrs Weasley to knit you a hat before we left, wasn't it, Spock?"

The Vulcan in question nodded, expression neutral beneath a garish, rainbow coloured hat with a pompom on the top. From large ear flaps dangled a string at each side, with a pompom at the end. They both swung like pendulums on either side of Spock's head as he walked.

"Indeed," he replied, voice carefully neutral.

"Lacks subtlety though," Ron interjected, grinning impishly.

"Come on," Tonks interrupted, leading them hurriedly further down the road, "the quicker we get on the bus the better."

Stopping abruptly, Lupin flung out his right arm.

The resulting "BANG" echoed down the empty street and caused McCoy to jump into Kirk, knocking them both off balance.

Spock regarded them both curiously. "Leonard?"

McCoy steadied himself, looking around nervously before scowling. "Damn it. _This_," he said angrily to Kirk, "is what happens when you force me to watch ancient cowboy movies!"

Kirk shrugged. "Being skittish can be an asset, Bones."

McCoy snorted. "Most of the time it's just an embarrassment."

A blindingly bright-purple, triple-decker bus had materialised before them, narrowly avoiding a lamp post. A thin, spotty youth in uniform bounded theatrically onto the pavement.

"Welcome to the-"

"Yes, yes," Tonks said quickly, "we know, thank you. On, on, get on-" She began shoving members of the travelling group on board at random.

"'Ere," the conductor squawked in excitement when Harry stumbled onto the bus, courtesy of Tonks, "it's 'Arry-"

"If you shout his name I will curse you into oblivion," Tonks muttered, clambering on board.

The driver quickly busied himself with closing the door.

"I've always wanted to go on this thing," Ron said appreciatively, looking around him.

The bus was crammed with haphazardly scattered mis-matched chairs, some of which had fallen over when the bus screeched to a halt. A few witches and wizards were still picking themselves off the floor, one of them angrily re-packing their shopping bag.

"Looks like we'll have to split up," Tonks said quickly, scanning the bus for empty seats. "Fred, George and Ginny, if you just take those seats at the back...Remus can stay with you."

The rest of the group climbed to the very top deck, where Stan Shunpike, the conductor, eagerly followed them to collect payment.

"Aren't you going to sit down?" McCoy asked Spock, gesturing at the empty seat beside him as Stan shuffled back downstairs.

"I believe that the journey shall be more comfortable should I decline a seat, Leonard."

McCoy looked vaguely offended. "Do I annoy you that much?"

"It is not a question of annoyance," Spock replied, "but of the speed of transportation."

McCoy glanced out the window, where the scenery was crawling by impossibly slowly. "Of course," he drawled sarcastically, "because the bus is moving so fas-"

BANG!

Suddenly, the bus was filled with shrieks and thuds as many of the occupants were thrown backwards, landing heavily on the floor. As they pulled themselves and their chairs back into position, Spock surveyed them from his standing position, having grasped a candle bracket in time to stop himself from falling.

McCoy sank back into his seat, rubbing the back of his head. "I think I see your point."

"Thank you, Leonard."

McCoy grimaced at him, bracing himself in the chair for the next sudden stop.

"Not very safe, is it?" Ron asked as, after another loud BANG, they sank into their chairs once more. "I don't think I ever want to ride on this thing again."

"Listen," Stan said, stumbling back up the stairs and heading towards them, avoiding a sick looking wizard, "it's 'Ogwarts stop after this. That bossy woman up front 'oo got on with you, she's given us a little tip to move you up the queue. We're just going to let Madam Marsh and him," he nodded towards the queasy wizard, "off first though-"

There was the sound of vomit splattering onto the floor downstairs.

"-they're not feeling their best."

A few seconds later the bus screeched to a halt once more and two very distressed passengers got off, to many mutterings of relief from those unfortunate enough to sit next to them.

"This has to be worse than a shuttle craft," McCoy moaned, his knuckles turning white with the force he was clenching the arms of the chair. "You'd think they could at least use magic to stop us from falling over every five seconds..."

"I might actually agree with you on that one, Bones."

BANG.

They were rolling through Hogsmeade, the buildings all glistening with snow. They caught glimpses of various shops flying past before they finally drew to a halt outside the gates of Hogwarts.

Lupin and Tonks helped lift the luggage off the bus, handing it to the appropriate person, before joining them outside to say goodbye.

"You'll be safe once you're in the grounds," Tonks said quietly, ignoring the faces staring from the bus windows. "Have a good term, ok?"

Lupin began shaking hands all around. "Look after yourselves." He lowered his voice when he got to Harry, but was unable to help the fact that Spock, with his Vulcan hearing, overheard everything.

"And listen, Harry. I know you don't like Snape, but he is a superb Occlumens and we all – Sirius included – want you to learn to protect yourself, so work hard, alright? And don't rely on Spock instead of Snape – we don't know which method might work best."

"Yeah, all right," Spock heard Harry say wearily. "See you, then."

Tonks and Lupin climbed back aboard the bus, which disappeared, leaving them all to struggle up the slippery drive to the castle, tugging their cases behind.


	30. Occlumency

**30. Occlumency.**

Much to Harry's horror, the hours of the first day back at Hogwarts flew by, giving him little time to prepare for his first Occlumency lesson with Snape. He was sure that, given the man's behaviour towards him since first year, the professor would do anything in his power to make the evening as unpleasant as possible. Needless to say, Harry was not looking forward to it.

As he sat in his usual place at the table in the Great Hall, his only consolation was that Spock would be there too. As he had seen during his first detention with Umbridge, the Vulcan was always ready to defend those whom he felt were being attacked without reason – even if they weren't Slytherins. He could only hope that he would manage to keep Snape in line long enough for the lesson to end without incident.

"Harry," Hermione said gently, bringing her friend out of his morose ponderings, "you should eat something."

"Yeah," Ron said between mouthfuls of mashed potato, "who knows, it might be the last free meal you have..."

"Ron," Hermione hissed, "that isn't helping!"

Kirk, who had been watching the exchange along with McCoy, laid down his fork. "Harry, you have to try to stay calm. The more you panic, the more mistakes you're going to make."

Harry snorted bitterly. "Snape would find something to punish me for even if my work was flawless."

"That's just because Snape's a git."

"Ron!" Hermione said aghast, "will you stop calling him that?"

"What?" Ron retorted defensively. "It's true, you know, and it's not like he's standing behind me, is he?"

"You're impossible..."

"Spock's leaving," Kirk observed, glancing across the Great Hall. "You should probably go soon."

Ron gaped as the Vulcan calmly walked through the door. "I don't believe him," he muttered incredulously. "It's at least ten minutes until you're meant to be there – even you don't leave that early, Hermione."

"That's Spock for you," McCoy quipped wryly. "Taking punctual to the extreme as only a Vulcan can."

Harry hastily gulped down some pumpkin juice before standing. Across the hall, Snape had already abandoned his seat at the staff table and was striding towards the door, his lip curling slightly as he caught sight of Harry.

"He doesn't look happy."

"When does he ever, mate?" Ron asked rhetorically.

"Harry, you'd better go," Hermione said urgently. "Ron and I will sneak some food up to the common room for you, since you haven't had a chance to eat anything..."

"Good luck!" Ron called after him, giving him a look of deepest sympathy before diving back into his food.

Barely anyone spared at glance at Harry as he walked out of the Great Hall, his heart pounding, on his way to the dungeons. Closing the door behind him, he was surprised to see Spock standing before him, Snape mercifully nowhere in sight.

"I thought you'd already left," Harry commented as they began walking to the dungeons, their stride matching exactly.

"I was awaiting your arrival."

"You left early so that I'd follow you," Harry deduced.

Spock's lips twitched, the movement almost too small to be seen. "I suspected that, without a sufficient prompt, you would fail to be punctual."

Harry grinned, not bristling at the gentle barb as he might once have done before getting to know the Vulcan better. "Thanks."

Spock inclined his head. "It was of course logical."

Harry felt a surge of affection for the Vulcan beside him as they reached the dungeon door and Spock knocked, effectively taking the lead and giving Harry a few precious seconds of being hidden from Snape's view as they entered the room.

They immediately found themselves in a small, shadowy room, the walls of which were lined with an impressive yet disgusting collection of creatures both living and dead, most of them slimy.

On the desk sat what looked at first sight to be a stone basin with runes and symbols engraved upon it. Its normally innocent appearance was made more sinister by the dim setting.

Without warning, Snape's voice came from the shadows. "Shut the door behind you."

All external light was effectively cut from the room, leaving the area slightly darker than before. Snape, however, seemed not to mind and navigated his office with ease, stepping into the light and pointing at two chairs opposite his own desk. They immediately sat down.

Joining them, the professor surveyed them for a few moments before speaking. "Well, Potter, you know why you are here. The Headmaster has deemed it wise for you to learn Occlumency and," he sneered, "unfortunately the task of teaching you has befallen both myself and Mr Spock. I can only hope that you prove more adept at it than Potions."

"Right," Harry snapped back.

"This may not be an ordinary class, Potter, but I am still your teacher and you will therefore call me 'sir' or 'professor' at all times."

"Yes..._sir_."

Spock gave Harry a brief warning look but otherwise remained quiet.

"Now," Snape said, letting the impertinence slide, "Occlumency. As I told you back in your dear godfather's kitchen, this branch of magic seals the mind against magical intrusion and influence."

"But Vulcan mind techniques do the same thing," Harry protested, "why do I need Occlumency?"

"Perhaps, Potter, the Headmaster has recognised that, given your usual inability to follow instructions, you should attempt both. Surely," his lip curled, "something would stay in that ineffective brain of yours if you were taught the same thing twice. Then again, you always were an exception to any given rule."

Spock's subtle shake of the head was the only thing preventing Harry from biting out an angry retort. Instead, he maintained an icy glare.

"Mastering this skill," Snape continued, "is essential. As you are no doubt aware, the Dark Lord is highly skilled at Legilimency-"

"What's that? _Sir_?"

"It is the ability to extract feelings and memories from another person's mind-"

"He can read minds?" Harry asked bluntly.

This time, it was Spock who answered. "That is a common misconception. There is in fact no 'reading of the mind' – rather, the attacker penetrates the subconscious thoughts of the victim and attempts to search for the information required, without the victim becoming aware of the intrusion. The term 'mind reading' would suggest a blatant breach of defence – one that would arouse suspicion in even a psi-nul victim."

Snape nodded in agreement. "The mind is not a book, Potter," he added, "but a complex and many layered thing. Navigation without being discovered requires subtlety – an asset which you seem incapable of understanding – in order to extract information. Blatant intrusion is pointless."

"However," Spock continued, "those who have received training in the mental disciplines are able to recognise even subtle intrusions."

"Only those skilled at Occlumency can lie in the presence of a highly skilled Legilimens such as the Dark Lord. Under an attack brought on by suspicion, obvious defence is useless and will only serve to confirm doubts. An accomplished Occlumens must be capable of distraction, of unobtrusive mental shields. This is what the Headmaster wishes you to learn."

"So," Harry said, "if Voldemort is such a good Legilimens, he could know what we're thinking right now? Sir?"

"The Dark Lord," Snape said wryly, glancing at Spock for a brief instant, "is at a considerable distance and the walls and grounds of Hogwarts are guarded by many ancient spells and charms to ensure the bodily and mental safety of those who dwell within them. Time and space matter in magic, Potter. Eye contact is often essential to Legilimency."

"Well then," Harry questioned, "if the spells are so strong and eye contact is necessary, why do I have to learn Occlumency?"

"Your visions are persisting," Spock stated simply.

"The curse that failed to kill you seemed to have forged some kind of connection between you and the Dark Lord. The evidence suggests that at times, when your mind is most relaxed and vulnerable – when you are asleep, for instance – you are sharing the Dark Lord's thoughts and emotions. The Headmaster thinks it inadvisable for this to continue."

"But," Harry blurted out quickly, "why does Professor Dumbledore want to stop it? I don't like it much, but it's been useful, hasn't it? I mean...I saw that snake attack Mr Weasley and if I hadn't, Professor Dumbledore wouldn't have been able to save him, would he? Sir?"

Snape threw Harry an exasperated glare, but allowed Spock to answer first.

"Voldemort, as a skilled Legilimens, may have become aware of the connections."

"Until now, he remained oblivious, but it is more than likely that he will soon recognise your presence. The visions you had shortly before Christmas represented such a powerful incursion upon the Dark Lord's thoughts-"

"I saw inside the snake's head, not his!"

"Do not," Snape said dangerously, "interrupt me, Potter."

"How come," Harry continued regardless, "I saw through the snake's eyes if it's Voldemort's thoughts I'm sharing?"

"_Do not say the Dark Lord's name!_"

Harry looked petulant. "Professor Dumbledore and the Star Fleet officers say his name."

"The officers," Snape reminded him, "are not from our universe, and Dumbledore is an extremely powerful wizard. While _he_ may feel secure enough to use the name...the rest of us..."

Without noticing the curious eyes upon him, Snape rubbed at his left forearm, the movement apparently unconscious.

"I just wanted to know," Harry persisted, "why-"

Snape cut him off, apparently having lost his patience. "You seem to have visited the snake's mind because that was where the Dark Lord was at that particular time. He was possessing the snake and so you dreamed you were inside it, too."

"And Vol – he – realised I was there?"

"It is likely," Snape said icily.

"How do you know?" Harry questioned, oblivious to Spock's warnings not to push too far, "is this just Professor Dumbledore guessing or-"

"I told you," Snape said, voice hard as steel, "to call me 'sir'."

"Yes, sir, but how do you know-?"

"You will recall," Spock said patiently, "the abilities of a skilled Legilimens. It is reasonable to assume that he senses you."

"He is also likely to have deduced," Snape added, "that the process can work in reverse; that is to say, he may have realised that he might be able to access your thoughts and feelings in return-"

"And he might try and make me do things? Sir?"

"He might," Snape replied indifferently. "Which brings us back to Occlumency, which I believe we shall attempt first."

Spock inclined his head in acknowledgement of this, watching the scene unfolding before him curiously.

Snape had pulled his wand from his pocket, causing Harry to tense, but rather than aiming it at the boy, Snape placed the tip to his head. His expression never changing, he withdrew a floating, silver substance which seemed simultaneously to be both solid and liquid yet neither. He placed it carefully in the pensieve, controlling its descent with his wand, before adding several more.

"Professor," Harry began curiously," what-"

"That is none of your concern, Potter," Snape said, stowing the pensieve away on a shelf, out of the way. "Now, Mr Spock, if you would move to the side of the room..."

Soon, it was just Harry and Snape, one gaze apprehensive and defiant, the other cold and carefully unemotional.

"Stand up and take out your wand, Potter."

Harry got to his feet. Now, only the desk stood between them.

"You may use your wand to attempt to disarm me, or defend yourself in any other way you can think of."

"And what are you going to do?" Harry asked nervously.

"I am about to break into your mind," Snape said calmly. "We are going to see how you resist. I have been told that you have already shown aptitude at resisting the Imperius Curse. You will find that similar powers are needed for this...brace yourself, now. _Legilimens!_"

Standing in the shadows, Spock could only watch as Harry's eyes glazed over and his breath began to quicken. Poising himself to interrupt should anything appear to be going wrong, his gaze shifted between an increasingly desperate Harry and clinically detached Snape, noticing the way the professor's eyes were narrowed slightly in concentration as he tore into the boy's mind.

"No," Harry murmured, eyes flickering back and forth as though watching a scene replaying before him. A blush was beginning to tinge his cheeks, mixed with mortification and resentment.

Snape did not relent.

"Not...watching..."

With what seemed like an enormous effort, Harry seemed to push Snape from his mind, a quick bolt of light lancing through the air even as Harry collapsed onto the floor, panting heavily.

Snape, rubbing his wrist irritably, glared down at Harry. "Did you mean to produce a Stinging Hex?"

"No," Harry muttered, pulling himself back to his feet.

"I thought not," Snape replied. "You let me get in too far. You lost control. A pitiful first attempt in comparison to that of Mr Spock," he sneered.

Harry drew himself up angrily. "Spock's _trained_ to do this," he retorted angrily. _"Sir._"

Snape remained unmoved. "Be that as it may, there is vast room for improvement."

"Did you see everything I saw?" Harry asked finally, after a short internal debate.

Snape smirked. "Flashes of it. To whom did the dog belong?"

"My Aunt Marge."

"An intelligent animal, obviously." Snape raised his wand once more. "You must remain focused. Repel me with your brain and you will not need to resort to your wand."

"I'm trying," Harry retorted sharply, "but you're not telling me how!"

"Manners, Potter. Now, I want you to close your eyes."

Throwing his professor one last filthy look, Harry complied, his hand clenched tightly on his wand, body tense.

"Clear your mind, Potter. Let go of all emotion..."

Harry continued to breathe harshly.

"You're not doing it, Potter...you will need more discipline than this...focus, now..."

Despite the increasingly controlled breathing, Harry's body remained tense.

"Let's go again...on the count of three...one-two-three – _Legilimens_!"

The effect was instantaneous. Harry's arms jerked as though he was trying to escape from the images plaguing him, and Spock saw his mouth open, horror etched upon his face as memory after memory assailed him.

"NOOOOOOO!"

With an almighty thud, Harry collapsed onto his knees once more, his head in his hands, pain rolling off him.

"Get up!" Snape snapped. "Get up! You are not trying, you are making no effort. You are allowing me access to memories you fear, handing me weapons!"

With slight difficulty, Harry staggered to his feet, teeth clenched. "I – am – making – an – effort."

"I told you to empty yourself of emotion!"

"Yeah? Well, I'm finding that hard at the moment!"

"Then you will find yourself easy prey for the Dark Lord!" Snape spat back. "Fools who wear their hearts proudly on their sleeves, who cannot control their emotions, who wallow in sad memories and allow themselves to be provoked so easily – weak people, in other words – they stand no chance against his powers! He will penetrate your mind with absurd ease, Potter!"

"Perhaps," Spock said over Harry's angry retort, "I may be of assistance."

Snape span around to face him, still pale with fury at Harry's blatant failure.

"Vulcans are taught mental disciplines to control emotions," Spock explained calmly. "Perhaps the sharing of this knowledge with Mr Potter would facilitate the learning process."

Snape looked doubtful. "Sophisticated techniques have never appealed to the boy."

"Nevertheless," Spock insisted, "there is a considerable chance of success."

After a moment of deliberation, Snape nodded and allowed Spock to approach Harry, who looked slightly relieved. Snape, in spite of his initial reluctance, looked curious.

Spock and Harry were now eye to eye, only a short distance between them.

"There are numerous emotions with which you struggle," Spock stated.

"Yes," Harry admitted, looking confused as to where this was heading.

"Name them."

Harry's eyes darted apprehensively to Snape. "I..."

"It is necessary," Spock said quietly. "Only once you identify the problem can you attempt to rectify it."

Harry sighed. "Loathing."

Snape's jaw tightened at this, but he did not interrupt.

"Anger. Embarrassment. Indignation..." he hesitated.

"There is an additional emotion," Spock prompted gently.

"Nervousness," Harry admitted, resolutely not looking at Snape.

Spock nodded. "That is satisfactory. The next step," he continued, "requires these emotions to be cancelled out individually."

"How?"

"Identify the opposite of loathing," Spock ordered.

Harry swallowed, looking slightly uncomfortable. "Love."

"That is correct. Now, you must focus upon a memory with an undercurrent of love."

There were a few moments of silence before Harry said, "I've got it."

Spock nodded once more in approval. "You must retain that sensation. Does the loathing remain present?"

Harry looked slightly surprised as he answered. "No."

"Repeat the process," Spock instructed, "until the negative emotions no longer exist."

Harry closed his eyes in concentration, his eyebrows furrowed with effort as his breathing became slower and his posture more relaxed.

"Now," Spock said quietly, "you must release the remaining emotion and thought."

This time there was no answer as Harry continued to stand with his eyes closed, his face devoid of the hatred that had been so prevalent earlier.

Spock stepped back to his former position, satisfied, and glanced at Snape, who seemed vaguely shocked that Harry had been able to follow instructions without argument. "A lengthy process without practice," Spock said neutrally, "but effective."

The surprised look did not leave Snape's eyes as he surveyed the boy before him. "Indeed. Now, Potter, are you prepared?"

A slow nod.

"_Legilimens!_"

Snape's expression became exasperated once more as the boy began to squirm and bellow, finally shouting "I KNOW! I KNOW!" before collapsing to the floor.

Snape lifted the spell and glanced curiously at Spock.

"It is a difficult state to maintain without sufficient practice," Spock explained.

Sighing, Snape returned his attention to Harry, who was beaming in bizarre excitement. "What happened then, Potter?"

"I saw – I remembered..." Harry babbled, "I've just realised..."

"Realised what?" Snape demanded.

There was a long and uncomfortable pause as Harry continued to pant in excitement, his mind evidently elsewhere.

"What's in the Department of Mysteries?" He asked finally.

Snape stared at him, looking unnerved. "What did you say?"

"I said, what's in the Department of Mysteries, _sir_?"

"And why," Snape questioned, "would you ask such a thing?"

"Because," Harry said slowly, watching Snape like a hawk, "that corridor I've just seen – I've been dreaming about it for months – I've just recognised it – it leads to the Department of Mysteries...and I think Voldemort wants something from-"

"_I have told you not to say the Dark Lord's name!_"

They glared at each other for several long, silent moments.

Snape was the first to speak, his voice almost completely calm. "There are many things in the Department of Mysteries, Potter, few of which you would understand and none of which concern you. Do I make myself plain?"

"Yes."

"I want you both back here same time on Wednesday. We will continue work then."

"Fine."

"Acknowledged."

"You are to practice Mr Spock's method every night before sleep, empty your mind, make it blank and calm, you understand?"

"Yes."

"And be warned, Potter...I shall know if you have not practised..."

"Right," Harry muttered, walking out the door without a backwards glance. Spock, after nodding politely at the Potions Master, followed him.

oOo

Several hours later, after an unproductive visit to the Death Eater base, Snape paced the floor of Dumbledore's office, scowling down at his feet and inwardly wondering how the old man before him managed to look calm during any and every crisis.

"The Dark Lord's forces are incompetent," he spat finally, not stopping his pacing. "They are still no closer to finding the proper incantation."

"That's good news for us, Severus," Dumbledore reminded him, hands laid placidly on the table in front of him. "We are fast reaching the final stages."

"And they're fast reaching the final stages of rebellion!" Snape exclaimed, turning to face the Headmaster.

"It is of course only natural that they should blame you for their failure, Severus. You are, after all, their impromptu leader."

"Then it would be 'only natural' should they decide to get rid of me and continue alone," Snape sneered sardonically.

Dumbledore didn't blink. "That is a possibility."

"Wonderful."

"However," Dumbledore continued, raising a hand, "you will be able to prevent this. You have no choice but to give them the correct information."

Snape stared at him as though he had grown antlers.

"Not _all_ of the correct information of course," the twinkling wizard amended.

"I was under the impression," Snape drawled sarcastically, "that I had already begun to do that."

"This time, Severus, there will be more truth in what you give them. Am I correct in saying that they still believe your information to be stolen from me?"

Snape inclined his head, but the bitter scowl did not leave his features. "They blame me for their lack of imagination. Apparently," he sneered, "the so-called spy is becoming 'old'."

Dumbledore looked thoughtful. "It seems they require more information than they have been given."

"Subtle hints never appealed to the tastes of the Dark Lord's ranks."

Dumbledore's lips twitched. "Indeed. Well," he said cheerfully, "I am certain that I'll be able to concoct something both truthful enough to strengthen their trust in you, and ambiguous enough to keep them from advancing too far. Now," he added, clearly bringing that topic to a close, his gaze boring into Snape's, "on to the matter of Harry's first Occlumency lesson..."

"The boy is lazy," Snape said at once. "He has made appallingly little progress in the time that I spent teaching him – he may even have worsened. In fact," he sneered, "it seems that he enjoys the prospect of a link with the Dark Lord."

"And why would he enjoy it, Severus?" Dumbledore asked mildly.

"The boy is too arrogant for his own good. No doubt the idea of being literally able to see into a powerful mind appeals to his own sense of importance."

"Harry Potter is not his father. You would do well to remember that."

"He makes no effort." The words '_just like his father'_ hung ominously between them.

"Nevertheless," Dumbledore said quietly, "I doubt that he purposefully leaves his mind open to Voldemort."

"If he would simply learn some restraint instead of leaving his mind and emotions open for all to see, he would not find this so difficult!"

"You don't deny that he has the ability?" Dumbledore asked mischievously.

Snape looked mutinous even as he relented. "He lacks the determination needed to master the skill. He is too passive – he expects everything to be done for him. He has failed even with the help of Mr Spock."

"He has shown that determination in the past. We can only hope that it surfaces soon. I fear that Voldemort is becoming impatient."

"The future of the wizarding world has no hope if it lies in the hands of Potter."

"I have every faith in Harry."

Snape snorted, but did not argue the point further, instead changing the subject. "And the Star Fleet officers – can they still be trusted?"

Dumbledore nodded. "We can trust them to keep themselves out of the hands of the Death Eaters – as much as is possible without magic, of course."

"It was a mistake to release them from the castle. Word has already spread and plans are being made for the next opportunity of ambush. Though the plans are amateur, there is too much chance of success against three people who have all the magical ability of squibs."

"I can assure you, Severus, that I have taken every possible precaution."

"Every precaution is taken on keeping the Potter boy safe," Snape replied, "yet he still wriggles free of them and lands himself in trouble."

"I rather believe that trouble finds him."

Snape was beginning to look slightly exasperated. "It hardly matters how the danger arrives; it still exists!"

Dumbledore surveyed the scowling wizard for a few moments, mouth gradually curving upwards in amusement. "Are you volunteering to keep an eye on them?"

Snape's expression was unfathomable. "I am suggesting that they remain here, where they are protected by the wards which you put in place."

"I do not wish to deny them their freedom, Severus, limited as it is. I shall notify you when they next leave the castle – with permission, that is," he added wryly.

"Headmaster, I can hardly traipse after three known targets of the Death Eaters!"

"I'm sure you will find a way of remaining inconspicuous. Polyjuice Potion, perhaps?"

Snape's eyes narrowed. "You are enjoying this."

Dumbledore's face was the mask of innocence, which only seemed to confirm Snape's suspicions. "In any case," he replied, ignoring the question completely, "they couldn't be in better hands."

Snape sighed, knowing he's lost the argument. "Very well." He turned to leave, but Dumbledore's voice stopped him by the door frame.

"Take care not to torture Harry too much in his next Occlumency lesson," he said knowingly.

Snape's only response was a smirk as he turned and stalked out the room, leaving Dumbledore smiling after him.


	31. Azkaban and Arguments

**31. Azkaban and Arguments.**

"You would laugh to see a pudding crawl..." Spock read aloud, an eyebrow almost rocketing off his face. "...a fascinating image."

Kirk gave him a weird look. "I never thought I'd say this, but that's one of the only phrases I _haven't_ heard Bones say."

"That is hardly surprising, Jim, as it originates in Britain."

McCoy, who was currently wading through Potions notes, didn't even look up. "Is that from the phrasebook Ginny gave you?"

"Affirmative."

Kirk chuckled. "With all those phrases at your disposal, and you still say that."

"The book is not designed to reformulate my speech patterns, merely to aid me in understanding those of others."

"What does it mean then?" McCoy asked.

"According to the given definition – 'a person who laughs at anything, even if it's not dead funny'...I believe the lexis is somewhat lacking in formality."

McCoy rolled his eyes. "It's written by _teenagers_, Spock. Not everyone can sound like walking computers."

"Indeed. That is not a widely shared aspiration."

McCoy snorted. "What does the next one say?"

"Abso-bloody-lutely..."

Kirk roared with laughter at the sight of his First Officer so calmly pronouncing the British expletive. After a brief shocked pause McCoy joined in, his notes lying forgotten as he turned his full attention on the bewildered Vulcan.

"I never thought I'd live to see the day," the doctor crowed. "I have to say, Spock, you and that phrase go 'bloody' well together..."

Now it was Kirk's turn to snort. "I'll never get used to you saying that Bones, let alone _Spock_."

"You damn well better, Jim," McCoy smirked, "because you'll be hearing a lot more of it the next time you even _try_ to go planetside unescorted."

"What's the next one?" Kirk asked quickly.

"You can't avoid that rant forever, Jim."

"I can try. Spock?"

"The next," Spock said obediently, "is: 'I don't Adam and Eve it, it's not true!' I am not certain I comprehend, however."

"That's..." Kirk seemed to be struggling for words. "That's..."

"More than slightly insane," McCoy chipped in.

"There is an additional entry."

"Let me see it," Kirk ordered, taking the book. "Who's Alan Whickers?"

"I do not know."

McCoy stared between them both. "Is that all it says – Alan Whickers?"

"It seems so," Kirk replied.

"What the-"

"The definition's on the next page," Kirk announced, swiftly cutting off McCoy. "..._Oh_."

"_Oh_?" McCoy repeated, now thoroughly confused.

"Take a look at this, Spock," Kirk said, handing the book back as though he hadn't even heard McCoy.

"Ah."

"_Ah_?" McCoy demanded.

"That is a significantly unusual method of communication."

"I've never even heard of it."

"It would appear that it is not utilised in our timeline."

"Maybe it died out?" Kirk suggested.

"That is unlikely. As you will recall, I have some experience with regards to ancient Earth media, including that of Britain. I was unfamiliar with the concept until this moment."

"What," McCoy enunciated, "are you two talking about?"

"Cockney slang, Bones."

McCoy looked dumbfounded. "_What_ slang?"

"Cockney."

"Rhyming slang, to be precise," Spock added.

"_Oh_," McCoy said, finally understanding. "So Adam and Eve means believe, while Alan Whickers means-"

"Knickers," Kirk finished impishly, "yes."

"Trust you to know that one," McCoy muttered.

"I try to stay in character."

"Leonard," Spock intoned quietly, "may I remind you that you are currently neglecting your Potions assign-"

McCoy's vicious swearing cut off the rest of Spock's sentence as the Doctor hurriedly swivelled back around in his chair, sifting through papers hurriedly in his attempt to finish.

"It's too late Bones," Kirk interrupted grimly, pointing at the Muggle clock on the wall. "Breakfast started a few minutes ago."

"I can finish this during breakfast."

"That would be somewhat conspicuous, would it not?"

McCoy glared briefly at Spock. "Not in the _Great Hall_ you pointy eared idiot!"

"Bones, you're the one always ranting on about having good food in the mornings-"

"I don't have _time_ damn it!"

"And suddenly _my_ side of the argument becomes that much clearer."

"Shut up, Jim."

Spock was already halfway to the door. "Gentlemen, our absence would be-"

"Alright alright!" McCoy snapped. "Just give me a – _Jim_!"

Kirk jogged to the door, grabbing Spock's bag and McCoy's unfinished essay as he went and dodging various objects thrown at him by the irate physician. Spock, who seemed to have understood Kirk's plan, followed.

"Jim, this is most unwise."

"I know," Kirk said wryly. "Bones will kill us..."

"Jim," Spock repeated, slightly more emphasis on the word due to the Vulcan's exasperation, "Professor Snape-"

"...might notice, I know," Kirk finished. "But maybe there's a spell that can transfer the information from your report onto Bones' essay."

"The styles would be noticeably dissimilar."

"There might be a way of changing that," Kirk said quickly as they continued to speed walk down the corridor, an angry and curse spitting McCoy barrelling after them.

"It is doubtful."

"We have to try," Kirk said firmly. "Or at least, _I_ do. I don't want you getting involved in any punishment..."

An eyebrow rose. "What of Leonard?"

Kirk grimaced. "He'd never have finished. I've sat behind him in classes and I can tell you, even at the Academy he wrote like a snail."

"A decidedly undesirable trait."

"JAMES TIBERIUS KIRK!" McCoy roared, still sprinting through the crowd of stragglers on their way to breakfast. "Get _back_ here!"

"I..." Kirk glanced back as McCoy hopped, swearing, around a kissing couple.

"Get a room," McCoy advised them none too gently, causing them to spring apart. "This is a school, not a clinic!"

The teenagers shuffled away in embarrassment, bright red, leaving McCoy staring down a suddenly clear corridor at Kirk, livid gaze zeroing in on the essay.

"...should go," Kirk finished, before running very fast towards the Great Hall.

"I'll deal with you later, Spock," McCoy puffed, breezing past the calm Vulcan.

"Indeed."

"Kirk! What are you doing?" A soft voice suddenly demanded.

From his vantage point, Spock saw McCoy attempting to slow down before he reached the corner Kirk had just disappeared around. With his Vulcan hearing, Spock heard the exchange that followed clearly.

"I'm sorry, Professor, but-"

"Spare me your pitiful excuses, Kirk. Given your teenage mentality a scene like this is hardly surprising. McCoy," he added quickly as the surgeon attempted to tiptoe away, not yet in Snape's visual range, "come here. Yes," Spock could practically hear the smirk, "I know you are there. A rampaging hippogriff could have achieved more stealth."

"Professor," Spock heard Kirk try again as McCoy reluctantly obeyed, "we were only trying to get to the Great Hall in ti-"

"Surely," Snape interrupted, "your stomach can be ignored for one morning, Mr Kirk?"

"I was-"

"Then again," Snape murmured, and Spock could practically see the Potions Master looking Kirk up and down, "it is good practice to prevent yourself from becoming top-heavy. A disproportionate head would no doubt look ridiculous without a stomach to match."

Kirk's voice was tight, but civil. "It won't happen again, Professor."

"No," Snape agreed, no doubt fixing both officers with a piercing stare. "Thirty points from Gryffindor."

"Professor-"

"By all means, Mr McCoy, protest. I have nothing against deducting more points."

There was a tense silence.

"Since you were both apparently so eager to reunite yourselves with food," Snape sneered, "I suggest you do so, and return Mr Spock's bag to him as you go."

"Yes, sir," two voices said simultaneously.

"Damn it," McCoy muttered after several moments. "That over grown potion brewing bat!"

Spock, judging correctly that the danger was on its way to the Great Hall, walked towards the other two.

"We got away lightly, Bones, though I couldn't help but notice he mostly ignored you."

"That's because I'm better at Potions," McCoy pointed out without mercy. "Just give me my damn essay back."

Kirk handed it to him. "Desperate times call for desperate measures," Kirk replied, striding down the stairs to the Great Hall.

"These wouldn't _be_ desperate times if you'd let me finish in peace!"

"You'd never have managed," Kirk said firmly. "You have too much left to write, even with some of the morning spent on it. He wanted three foot of parchment and you've done two sentences of your introduction."

"Spock?" McCoy pleaded, clearly desperate for backup.

"Your ability to write quickly does leave much to be desired," Spock said, "however," he added, turning to Kirk, "an approach of non-interference may have proven more successful."

"I was just trying to help," Kirk argued, pushing open the large door. "You should have started your homework earlier."

"You know I did!" McCoy growled. "It's not my damn fault that Peeves kept dousing my work with ink pellets."

"How inconsiderate," Spock murmured, before drifting off to the Slytherin table, where Malfoy was watching him expectantly.

McCoy stared after him, rant forgotten. "That _can't _have been sarcasm."

"I don't think it was." Kirk's voice was distracted as he steered them both towards the last two seats at the table. He sat down, glancing around the room.

McCoy latched onto this immediately. "Something's happened," he groaned.

Harry, who had been in discussion with his fellow Gryffindors, turned to face them grimly. "There was a mass breakout at Azkaban."

"_What_?" McCoy hissed, hand pausing as it transferred cereal to his bowl.

"Take a look..." Snatching up a discarded newspaper, Harry handed it to them, watching their responses carefully as they read through the article.

"_She _tortured Neville's-"

"Yeah," Harry interrupted, shooting a worried glance at Neville, who seemed to alternate between a mood of vengeful anger and depression. "Bellatrix Lestrange tortured his parents."

"Did they..." McCoy began softly.

"No," Harry sighed, "they're still alive, but they don't recognise him. It's Neville's story to tell, really."

Kirk nodded in understanding. "Of course."

McCoy gave the picture another look. "She was on the Enterprise."

"Well she can't have been," Hermione said, joining the conversation. "She's just escaped."

"I'm telling you, I saw her on the Enterprise before we ended up here!"

"That's weird," Kirk muttered.

"Maybe," Hermione said slowly, "her escape has only just been reported. Fudge would do anything to avoid admitting that anything was wrong, so it makes sense to only report it now, when he can blame a mass breakout on an outsider. He probably thinks it helps him escape from blame..."

"Fudge needs to be replaced."

"I'm not sure that's possible, Bones," Kirk said. "It's much easier to live in ignorance of a threat than to face it. By arguing that Voldemort isn't here, Fudge is giving the public what it wants, and they'll keep him in power."

"Not to mention," Ron joined in, "that You-Know-Who isn't actually here, is he?"

"He was," Harry said darkly, a hand going involuntarily to his scar.

"Have you..." Ron looked hesitant, "you know, felt _him_ recently?"

Harry nodded. "He's getting impatient with being stuck on the Enterprise."

"So he doesn't know about this?" Ron asked hopefully, waving the newspaper about.

"How would he?" Kirk asked reasonably.

"The snake?" Ron suggested. "He could possess it, couldn't he, and then get it to read the paper and-"

"Don't be ridiculous Ron," Hermione admonished. "Snakes can't read."

"No, but _he_ can."

"He doesn't know, Ron," Harry insisted. "I'd have felt it."

"Well then," Ron shrugged, speaking through half a mouthful of egg, "if You-Know-Who isn't here, and he doesn't know about it, what do you reckon it was?"

Hermione sighed. "Isn't it obvious? The Death Eaters are desperate. Obviously, they can't find out how to bring Voldemort – oh stop _whimpering_, Ron – back, so they're breaking out those who are most likely to help."

"Which means," Kirk added, "that if they find the spell first, they'll control where and when Voldemort reappears, and there'll be no chance to defeat him."

"Blimey..."

"And there's more," Harry muttered, pointing at another article. "Bode was murdered."

"He was in St Mungo's," Hermione explained even as they began to read, "he was given Devil's Snare – the Healer said it was a Christmas present."

"A pretty daft Christmas present," Ron said.

"They disguised it," Harry added. "No one recognised it until it was too late."

"Why would anyone want to murder him?" Kirk asked.

"He was an Unspeakable," Ron explained. "They work in the Department of Mysteries."

"The place I dream about," Harry clarified. "Voldemort wants something from there-"

"I've got to write a letter," Hermione suddenly announced, springing to her feet.

"Why?" Ron interrogated, staring at her as she gathered her school bag.

"It...well, I don't know whether...but it's worth trying...and I'm the only one who can." She swept brusquely out the room, determination in every footstep.

"I _hate_," Ron moaned, "when she does that."

"Does it happen a lot?" McCoy asked in amusement.

"You get used to it," Harry replied, "unless you're Ron..."

"I mean," Ron continued, oblivious to their conversation, "would it kill her to tell us what she's up to for once?" He asked as they exited the Hall. "It'd take her about ten more seconds – hey, Hagrid!"

The half giant in question was standing near the doors in the Entrance Hall, bruised as ever. "All righ' you four?"

"Are you ok, Hagrid?" Harry asked as they stepped outside.

"Fine, fine." His tone suggested otherwise. "Jus' busy, yeh know, usual stuff – lessons ter prepare – couple o' salamanders got scale rot – an' I'm on probation."

"_You're on probation?"_ Ron and McCoy squawked in unison, attracting more than several curious stares in the process.

"Yeah," Hagrid replied miserably. "'S'no more'n I expected ter tell yeh the truth. Yeh migh' not've picked up on it, bu' that inspection didn' go too well, yeh know...anyway, bes' go an' rub a bit more chilli powder on them salamanders or their tails'll be hangin' off 'em next." For once, he didn't look enthused by the prospect of his usual duties. "See yeh, you four..."

He trudged away before any of them could even say goodbye.

"Umbridge," Ron muttered darkly as they made their way to Herbology. "She's completely biased; she is, _mental_ – just because Hagrid shows us a few Thestrals..."

He continued his monologue until they reached the greenhouses, apparently forgetting that he was one of those who originally opposed the visiting of dangerous creatures in lessons.

"There might be another death reported in tomorrow's newspaper," McCoy growled when Ron finally stopped. At the others' alarmed looks, he added, "I haven't finished Snape's essay..."

Ron whistled as he pulled on his thick gloves. "I'll say something unforgettable at your funeral; make sure you're remembered as a martyr..."

McCoy grimaced. "I get the feeling he'll have me cremated," he moaned as Hermione sidled, late, into her usual spot. "Or maybe he'll chop me up and brew me in a potion, just for the irony..."

Their Herbology lesson travelled quickly by, their attention kept occupied by the wriggling roots they were supposed to subdue in order to extract the healing sap from the plants. After getting slapped several times in the face by an indignant plant, McCoy's mood had darkened considerably by the time they had trudged down to the Potions classroom.

After his usual abrupt arrival, Snape surveyed the class with something akin to resignation written across his features.

"The essays I set you last lesson are to be placed on my desk. Remember," he added over the rummaging and rustling as students searched for said homework, "that I am not telepathic and cannot, despite my best efforts, identify which untidy scrawl and tedious waffle belongs to which student. Naming your work," he sneered, "would be useful, as you were no doubt taught in your first year."

McCoy scowled at Kirk as the captain returned to his seat after placing his work on the desk. "Thanks Jim. I'm sure in for a treat."

"You had two lines," Kirk defended, lowering his voice as the scraping of chairs died down. "I was going to ask Hermione to duplicate Spock's work using your style."

McCoy harrumphed and opened his mouth, but had no time to reply.

"Mr McCoy," Snape said softly, crossing his arms impatiently, "you have yet to hand me your work."

McCoy glared at Kirk one more time before turning to the Potions Master. "I haven't finished it yet, sir."

Everyone turned to stare incredulously at him, mouths gaping. Several Slytherins snickered.

"I see," Snape said dangerously, gliding steadily closer to McCoy. "You surprise me; even Potter," the lip curled slightly, "has handed in his usual abomination. Did you decide, perhaps, that your magical education was unworthy of your attention?"

He reached the workbench and stood there, still as a statue, eyes glittering. "It appears that given any opportunity you strive to break the rules. While this is hardly your _esteemed_ Star Fleet Academy, you are expected to work – unless of course you wish to join Longbottom in his ever on-going attempts to blow up my classroom."

"I was attacked by Peeves, sir," McCoy said through gritted teeth.

"How unfortunate," Snape said silkily, not sounding sympathetic in the least, "but surely he was not making a nuisance of himself for the entire evening."

"I had other homework to do, sir. It was late when I started Potions and Peeves attacked."

"You had ample opportunity before breakfast to complete my assignment, McCoy. Even you must know that your time would have been better spent in doing so rather than the immature display of 'tag' you decided to indulge in."

McCoy fumed silently, but said nothing. Beside him, Kirk looked vaguely guilty.

"Twenty points from Gryffindor and detention, Mr McCoy, you can complete your homework then. You will report to my office at five o'clock this evening."

"Yes, sir," McCoy almost snarled.

Snape lifted a lazy eyebrow. "Five more points for lack of respect. Now," he turned abruptly and stalked to the front of the classroom, "turn to page 23 in your books. You will find the ingredients and instructions necessary which," he flicked his wand, "are also on the board. Begin."

For several moments, the only sound heard was the chopping of ingredients and slight boiling of potions-to-be in their cauldrons. Everyone was intent on their task, not daring to look up as Snape prowled around the room, passing some benches dismissively while interrogating the inhabitants of others. Only the Slytherins seemed to be enjoying themselves; their smirks widening with each insult their Head of House uttered.

Finally, thankfully, the bell rang to announce the end of the lesson and they trooped wearily out of the room, taking care to leave their desks looking immaculate as they went. Snape didn't spare them a glance, already sorting out the resulting potions of the day and setting them aside for later marking.

"You're still alive, mate," Ron said sympathetically as they passed a shell shocked group of first years waiting for their lesson.

"Not for much longer," McCoy grumbled. "Don't be surprised if he serves me up at breakfast."

"Even Snape isn't that cruel," Hermione interjected, though a slight smile tugged at her lips.

"You'd be surprised," Harry responded. "He's definitely not easy on me during those Occlumency lessons."

"You need to learn to defend yourself, Harry," Hermione said patiently, dodging Peeves as he floated above them, cackling, "and you can't do that unless it's a challenge. There's no use practicing against someone who caves in against you."

"Indeed," Spock added. "Voldemort will show no such mercy."

Harry winced. "I'm trying to avoid thinking about that."

"You can't run away from your problems!" Hermione exclaimed. "That's what Fudge is doing and it isn't getting him anywhere, is it? He's-"

"Are you comparing me to Fudge?" Harry demanded hotly.

"No! I only meant – that's not what I was trying to say, Harry!"

"I'm not trying to run away from my problems!" Harry continued, voice rising in his anger. Several people were beginning to stare but he didn't seem to notice. "If I was then I wouldn't exactly be here now, would I? I could just leave you all alone to deal with Voldemort, but I haven't!"

Hermione looked stricken. "I didn't mean-"

"I'll see you in class," Harry spat, increasing his stride so that he was soon out of earshot.

Hermione looked close to tears. "I-"

"It's alright," Kirk said softly. "You haven't done anything wrong; it's the pressure that everyone's putting on him with all the newspaper articles."

"Yeah," Ron added for good measure, looking slightly put out that he didn't speak first, "it's just stress. We'll give him some space for a bit, and he'll calm down."

"I hope so..." Hermione muttered vaguely, managing to regain control of her emotions just before entering the classroom, though she hesitated slightly before sitting next to an obviously still irritated Harry.

"Silence please," Umbridge simpered from her chair, her resemblance to a toad even stronger.

There were a few groans for good measure, which she pretended not to hear, before silence descended upon the room.

"Open your text books to-"

"Page 24," several people muttered at once.

"-and make notes-"

"There will be no need to talk," someone mimicked to his next door neighbour, voice slightly high pitched.

"That will be quite enough, Mr Higgins," Umbridge said, rippling pompously. "Back to work."

Silence weighed heavily upon the classroom, several students lifting their heads to glare at her for her most recent probation order. Although Hagrid was not considered by most to be a particularly good teacher, he was an extremely popular one. For many, his lessons were an opportunity to get off immediate school grounds (even if that meant going into the Forbidden Forest) and exploring species not normally covered by other teachers in that area of study.

Clearly, it was not a popular decision, and any other mildly competent teacher would have begun to reconsider after facing glares along every single corridor, but Umbridge appeared immune to criticism.

"Professor?" One brave student finally raised her hand, staring directly at the professor in question. McCoy noticed that she was part of a particular group who had appeared devastated at the news.

Umbridge tried to ignore her.

The student gritted her teeth, her mouth set in a determined line.

"If this is about who I think it is," Ron muttered, "she's going to get into a lot of trouble."

"But she'll be saying what we're all thinking, won't she?" Harry whispered back, his earlier anger almost forgotten. "Umbridge can't fight a whole class."

"Yes she can!" Hermione hissed eyes wide. "She's the professor, she could have us expelled!"

"Professor?" The girl asked again, voice more urgent. Dimly, McCoy remembered her name was Katie Philips.

Umbridge finally accepted her fate and turned her sickly sweet smile onto her. "Is this relevant to the passage, Miss Philips?"

"Not directly, no."

"Then it can wait."

"Actually Professor," Katie pressed, "it's relevant to you."

Umbridge became stock still. "Really?" She sounded like one of her purring cats. "Nevertheless, I must ask you to wait, Miss Philips."

From the look on her face, Katie had had enough, and all the weeks of pent up frustration developed by the class went into the next statement. "You _certainly_ don't seem to be waiting to try and turn our brains to mush with your constant 'hem hem-ing' and awful lessons that basically amount to 'open book and read, because I don't have the actual ability to perform the spells that you are supposed to be learning'. Seems a bit unfair to me...you expect _me_ to wait, but what about you?"

Silence reigned supreme as everyone stared in mixed awe and disbelief.

Umbridge actually quivered. "How..." she seemed almost inarticulate with rage, "how _dare_ you?"

Katie, realising she had scored the upper hand, smirked. "I dare quite well you see, it's not that hard when you're so god-awful. Someone needs to put you in your place, that's all. I'm quite willing to do so if you wish... I can do this several times during the day too, absolutely no problem. Can't let your ego get any bigger...although, considering that might make your head explode..."

She continued to look Umbridge in the eye after a brief once over, and proceeded to say the next part with false enthusiasm in her voice, "Umbridge, you are such a wonderful teacher, I _adore _you ever so much, you really _must _give me the name of your tailor. I wish to look like I was puked on by Pepto-Bismol too.''

Umbridge bristled, smoothing out her outfit unconsciously as she surveyed the youth before her. "Report to your Head of House at once," she said finally, "for attempted verbal abuse."

"Attempted'?" Katie laughed, bringing several grins to people's faces as they realised that Umbridge had well and truly met her match. "Seriously? Just 'Attempted'? Merlin's Beard, lady, not only are you an idiot at your own subject, you're an idiot at your own language." Umbridge blanched in rage. Several people were now holding bets on how much further the insults could go before Umbridge physically put a stop to it.

Harry, meanwhile, had finally lifted out of his bad mood and was openly smiling, poised on the edge of his seat as though he wanted to add something, but was stopped by Hermione.

"Harry, you can't!"

"Yeah, mate," Ron snickered, "I want to see how this ends first."

"That wasn't 'attempted' verbal abuse," Katie continued, as though talking to a very slow child, "that _was_ verbal abuse. There was no 'attempt', trust me. I'd know. It's not my fault you don't know what half of these words mean. I is sorry for making your head hurt. There, did you understand that better now? As for reporting to my Head of House, but of course." She stood up defiantly.

"On second thought, Miss Philips," Umbridge said as Katie walked towards the door, "you had better stay here. I will have a word with you at the end of the lesson before sending you to Professor Snape and assigning you your due punishment."

Katie stopped, turned around and cocked an eyebrow. "I thought you wanted me to go to my Head of House? Or is your brain so tiny that you forgot he's in the dungeons? I need to leave the room for that, you know."

"Sit _down_ Miss Philips," Umbridge fairly snarled, making a few in the front row jump. Katie sat down, a scheming glint in her eye that her classmates liked the look of, but which Umbridge fortunately did not notice.

At the front of the class and turning a colour that greatly clashed with her disaster of an outfit, Umbridge seemed to struggle for breath.

Harry, despite all his friends' warnings, raised his hand to take his turn. "Professor? While we're on the topic of incompetence and bad judgement," several people snickered, "I have something to ask you, since you're the only one who understands the situation."

With a failing attempt to reign in her anger, Umbridge spoke. "I must ask you to restrain your desire for questioning until the end of the lesson, Mr Potter."

Harry snorted. "I thought this was a free for all."

"Harry, no..." Hermione moaned, tugging his sleeve desperately.

Harry ignored her. "Doesn't the Ministry claim to be unprejudiced?"

Umbridge seemed to debate on whether or not to answer. "I hardly expect you to understand our slogans, Mr Potter, as they are aimed at wizards of higher intelligence than yourself."

Katie rolled her eyes. "You can fool yourself-"

"Miss Philips!"

"She's right," Harry pushed, getting back into the stride of the argument. "You don't keep your own promises! You're putting people like Hagrid onto probation, just because you don't like the fact he's only half human, while pretending that you've got balanced opinions – then you wonder why the wizarding community is turning against you!"

"He is an incompetent oaf of a half-breed!" Umbridge bit out, finally having reached the end of her tether. "He is the very reason that people of pure status should be employed in areas such as this."

Spock raised his eyebrows. Now, it was McCoy's turn to protest. "Damn it, you stubborn hobgoblin, remember what you said-"

"It is evident that the general population of Hogwarts is not in agreement with that statement."

"He means she's deluded," Kirk whispered to Ron, who was staring at Spock with his mouth hanging half open.

"Educated individuals must-"

Katie turned to the person next to her, who happened to be Malfoy, and whispered loudly into his ear, her word carrying around the classroom. "_Educated_."

Malfoy sniggered and whispered back in just as carrying a murmur. "Someone needs to buy her a proper dictionary, I think."

Umbridge was beginning to look slightly deranged. "The next person who speaks," she said loudly, "shall receive detention."

"Hagrid," Harry persisted, "is a good teacher! We learn more from him than we do in any class with you!"

"Detention, Mr Potter!" Umbridge cried in triumph, her hands flapping slightly as she pointed at their desks. "Now, back to your work, children, your education is precious!"

"Not as precious as your brain cells," Malfoy muttered, sniggering.

Umbridge slammed a book from her hand bag onto her desk pointedly, and proceeded to glare at them for the last five minutes of the lesson, the argument having used up all of their supposed 'study' time. The grins did not fade from anyone's face as they pretended to bury themselves in their books, not a single page being turned over as nobody was reading. Even Harry still looked vaguely satisfied despite his latest punishment.

Finally, the bell rang, signalling excited chatter as they all filed from the room, for once in no hurry to leave. The sight of a thoroughly humiliated Umbridge sitting stock still at her desk was enough to grab anyone's attention.

"Hey!" Ron shouted as they started off down the corridor at long last, "Weren't you meant to wait behind?"

Katie shrugged. "You didn't hear her say that, did you, because I didn't." Before Ron could even argue, she had winked at him and turned to Harry. "And that, Potter, is how you argue with her. I'm surprised that you haven't figured it out yet."

She walked away calmly, not waiting for a reply and yet not needing one. Harry and the rest of the Gryffindors stared after her, dumbfounded, as she soaked up the congratulations of their classmates.

Hermione sighed. "Well, Harry, I did warn you..."


	32. Rita Skeeter

**32. Rita Skeeter.**

The show-down against Umbridge remained the gossip of the castle for weeks afterwards, the ferocity of which it was discussed challenged only by the news of the Azkaban mass breakout. Names which remained unfamiliar to those of Muggle families were whispered throughout the castle's corridors, the lips baring them almost quivering in fear in some cases. Though the Slytherins seemed mostly unconcerned about this development, the rest of the castle was the closest it had ever come to an all out panic, the escape and appearance of Sirius Black never far from anyone's mind.

Added to that was a large workload as Quidditch practice dominated the lives of those who remained on the team, in addition to the frequent DA meetings. The Room of Requirement was more often than not a buzzing hive of activity as both Muggle and magical defence methods were learnt together, the members more anxious than ever to learn how to defend themselves. Some moves had even been used on the Quidditch pitch, much to the general suspicion of the Hogwarts staff, when disputes over practice times broke out between house teams.

With all of this going on at once, it was hardly surprising when February 14th rolled around quickly, yet another long awaited Hogsmeade weekend. The atmosphere was therefore an excited and relieved one as everyone clamoured into the Great Hall for breakfast, the worry of school work for once not present in their minds.

"Right," Fred said to announce his presence as he sat at the Gryffindor table that morning, "here's to our first day out in years."

"Yeah," George added, sitting beside his brother, "and we expect everyone to stock up on merchandise for us to examine."

"We need to keep developing our own inventions, you see," Fred added.

"And it always helps to keep an eye on the competition."

"I can't..." Ron muttered morosely, "I'm meant to go to Quidditch practice."

"Not to worry little bro, I'm sure Harry'll help us out, right Harry?"

"Actually, George," Harry said, not looking up from his spoon, "I probably won't be buying anything."

"He's got a date with Cho Chang," Hermione explained.

Fred's face split into a wide smile. "Our little Harry's finally all grown up!"

"Yeah," George chuckled. "We were getting worried, you know, what with the lack of clamouring girlfriends..."

"Shut up," Harry muttered in reply, though his voice was without sting.

"Ooo!" Fred and George chorused.

"So what's that you're doing there then," Fred said, nodding at Harry's spoon, which was beginning to reshape itself as Harry prodded it absentmindedly with his wand, "are you making her a gift?"

Harry seemed to realise what he was doing at exactly the same moment as everyone else did. "Er..."

The spoon had warped and twisted until it was unrecognisable as anything but a mini replica of the Star Ship Enterprise, spinning lazily in mid air. Kirk and McCoy gaped.

"That's a perfect replica..." Kirk said in awe, reaching out to pick it up and twirling it almost lovingly in his fingers.

"You can have it," Harry said, sounding slightly surprised that he had managed to shape something so intricately when he was really no better than Ron at Transfigurations or Charms.

Hermione was examining it curiously as Kirk held it in his hands, her expression bemused. "What is it?"

"The perfect gift for Cho," Ron snorted.

"It's the _Enterprise_," Kirk whispered, unable to tear his eyes off what had once been a spoon.

Everyone turned to stare at Harry, who looked suddenly uncomfortable. "Er...is it?"

"_That_," Ron exclaimed, jabbing his finger at the object, "is what your ship looks like? A warped spoon?" He started laughing.

McCoy bristled. "Technically," he replied over the amused chuckling breaking out amongst the group, "the warped spoon looks like the Enterprise, not the other way around."

"Does Star Fleet have the entire drawer?" Ron continued to snort, almost choking himself on his eggs in the process. "There's nothing better than a Fleet made of steel."

"Alright, alright," McCoy snapped.

"How did you know what it looks like?" Kirk asked quietly, staring almost right through Harry.

"I..." Harry stared down at his hands as though looking for an explanation, "I'm not actually sure."

"Obviously this was no accident," Hermione interjected practically. "Did you dream it?"

"I must have done..."

"Do you know what this means?" McCoy asked in shock. Everyone except Kirk stared at him cluelessly. "He saw into Spock's mind!"

"It's not exactly surprising though, is it," Ron pointed out, "since Spock was shielding Harry's mind from You-Know-Who."

"It's more than that," Hermione said slowly.

McCoy nodded. "I've heard about cases like this. Apparently, when Vulcan Healers mind meld with their patients, they have to take extra care to keep their mind closed in order to avoid a deep bond."

"Bond?" Harry repeated.

"Bones," Kirk said quietly, so that everyone else had to strain to hear him, "he can't be..."

"It's not that type of bond, Jim," McCoy said gently, so that only Kirk could understand. Raising his voice, he added, "it's a faint link, weakened by Spock's own mental shields, but inevitable."

"So..." Harry said slowly, "you're telling me that I'm now reading Spock's mind as well."

"That depends on the strength of the link," McCoy replied. "It could be that you picked out that image from Spock's mind when he mind-melded with you, but it could also be possible that there _is_ a growing link between you, which might get stronger as time goes on, if the visions continue."

"How do you know all this, Bones?"

"I'm a Doctor," McCoy said simply, "it's my job to research."

"Can it be broken?" Harry asked.

McCoy shrugged. "I honestly don't know, Harry, you'd have to ask Spock about that one. Do you _want_ it to be broken?"

"I don't know...I haven't felt it at all so far."

"It could be useful in danger," Hermione added. "If it strengthens, I mean."

"We'll have to ask Spock whether or not he's noticed it," Kirk pointed out. "He'll know more about this than us."

"Hopefully," McCoy muttered.

"Looks like it's time for us to go," Hermione observed, looking around the rapidly emptying Great Hall. "Good luck, Harry."

"Yeah," the Weasley siblings all added at once, giving each other a weird look before the twins walked off and Ron spoke. "Don't forget the spoon, mate."

Meeting back up with Spock, they filed through the front entrance to Hogwarts slowly, as Filch was currently subjecting every student to heavy security checks, despite the illogic in doing so before they purchased anything. Once they were outside the castle, the Slytherins nodded to Spock before moving off in a different direction, though they looked slightly put out at the fact that the Gryffindor group was favoured over them.

Ron, looking distinctly unenthusiastic, headed off to the pitch with the rest of the team, Kirk giving them a brief wave as they left.

Harry met up with Cho and immediately attempted to plunge into awkward conversation with her, which amused everyone else to no end, though they pretended not to be listening as they walked a few steps ahead. Nobody noticed the young and inconspicuous first year, whom had just been given detention along with his friend by Snape for voicing unsuitable plans, following them.

"So..." Harry said, voice nervous and fumbling, "great weather for today...Valentines Day, I mean. It really captures the – er – mood of the season..."

"It is, isn't it?" Cho continued, probably to spare Harry the embarrassment of the remark going ignored. "I thought that we'd have to walk around in the rain, from the look of things last night."

"We'd have been a bit wet," Harry replied intelligently, giving a short laugh. There was an awkward pause. "So, are you planning on buying anything?"

"I might take a look around, see what I can find," Cho said non-comitally, "but I know a great cafe of sorts where we can have a drink, if we get too cold."

"Madam Puddifoot's," Hermione explained. "It's meant to be really romantic for couples."

"And bright pink and full of doilies," Fred added. "Not that I've seen it, of course..."

There was a roar from the Quidditch stadium, and they heard Cho's voice drifting towards them, quiet concern aimed at Harry. "You really miss it, don't you?"

"Yeah," Harry replied wistfully, "I do."

"Remember the first time we played against each other, in the third year?"

"Yeah," Harry chuckled. "You kept blocking me."

"And Wood told you not to be a gentleman and knock me off my broom if you had to. I heard he got taken on by Pride of Portree, is that right?"

"Nah," Harry said. "It was Puddlemore United; I saw him in the World Cup last year."

"Oh, I saw you there too, remember? We were on the same campsite. It was really good, wasn't it?"

The group in front smiled, glad that Harry had gotten over his apparent awkwardness and finally managed to engage Cho in a meaningful conversation, even if it was about Quidditch.

"Potter and Chang!" A sickly girlish yell exclaimed, announcing the arrival of Pansy Parkinson and several of her comrades, giggling insanely. "Urgh, Chang, I don't think much of your taste...at least Diggory was good looking!"

There were expressions of shock all round that even Parkinson could stoop so low as to insult a recently ex-student, but before anyone could retaliate she had skipped off, laughing at the top of her voice.

Hermione looked murderous. "The insensitive little-"

"Hey," Harry called out, "er, we'll see you lot later..." his gaze darted from Cho to the Gryffindors, apparently slightly nervous at being left alone.

Hermione, her rant interrupted, nodded. "We'll be in the Three Broomsticks, Harry. It looks like Spock's getting cold..."

While this was a subtle way of reminding Harry of their pre-arranged meeting, it seemed to be true. Spock was beginning to shiver in the breeze, his ears uncovered and exposed to the harsh elements. The tips were turning a decidedly unhealthy colour.

"Alright," Harry replied. "Will he be-"

"He'll be fine," McCoy said, giving him a reassuring smile. "Go and enjoy your Valentines Day, both of you."

Giving a nod, they both began to walk up the other end of the High Street, battling through the crowds of cold students in search of shelter.

"WHY THE HELL," McCoy exploded as soon as Harry was out of ear shot, dragging Spock to the nearest building, "AREN'T YOU WEARING THE HAT OR JUMPER MRS WEASLEY GAVE YOU?"

Spock actually winced. "Leonard, there is no need to reach such excessive decibels..."

"I'm your doctor, damn it, and I'll shriek as loud as I like when you ignore my advice!"

"Leonard, you did not advise me to-"

"Fine, fine!" McCoy said over the top of the Vulcan, who was being pushed unceremoniously into a seat at a free table. "Why aren't you wearing them, anyway?"

"I no longer possess the hat."

"Why the hell not?"

"At most recent observation, I believe that the House Elf named Dobby was the new-"

"Doesn't he have enough hats?" McCoy interrupted yet again.

"I believe that he merely appreciated the texture and design of my hat," Spock said simply.

"You need that!"

"I am aware."

McCoy sank down into the seat next to him. "Great. Fantastic. And your warm jumper?"

"I deemed it to be inappropriate for the occasion."

McCoy rolled his eyes. "You can't walk around in just a t-shirt and a coat, Spock, you need a jumper underneath, especially because you feel the cold more."

A small youth sidled unnoticed behind a table at the other end of the room and began watching them.

"It is inconsequential."

"This," McCoy spat, jabbing Spock so hard in the chest he left a bruise, "is your _health_ you green blooded idiot!"

Someone standing above them cleared their throat, looking slightly annoyed. "Are you going to order anything?"

McCoy blinked. "What?"

"If you've simply come in here to argue and aren't going to buy anything then I must ask you to leave," the man said sharply, arms crossed over a work apron. "You're starting to scare away customers."

"Scare away customers?" McCoy repeated incredulously. "We're having a debate not a blood bath!"

"I must insist-"

"Alright, alright," McCoy said, caving in. "Where are we, anyway, and what do you sell here?"

The man stared at him. "Sir, do you need me to call St Mungo's?"

"What? Why?"

"I think you've been Confunded..."

"_Or_," McCoy said pointedly, "I walked in without looking where I was going!"

"We're in the Three Broomsticks," Hermione explained quickly, before a fully fledged argument could erupt. "Don't worry, I'll order..." She jumped up and went to the bar, Fred and George following her.

McCoy immediately turned back to the Vulcan. "You _need_ to take better care of yourself!"

"Leonard, I am doing so-"

"No, you're not! You throw yourself into these things like a-"

Spock raised an eyebrow.

"Like a _Gryffindor_!"

The youth at the other end of the bar smirked, seemingly entertained by the show.

McCoy seemed to realise what he'd just said because he blinked and shook his head slightly. "This place must be getting to me."

"Indeed. You appear to have a natural flair for this lifestyle."

McCoy snorted. "I can't even do magic, let alone understand half of these customs!"

The youth's face tightened as he recognised several curious stares in the form of non-students being directed at the Doctor, who remained oblivious.

"Nevertheless," Spock continued, "you have adapted remarkably well."

"I've had more time to adapt. Every other planet-side mission, we were being chased or attacked. At least this time we have room to think."

The youth's expression was now positively murderous.

"Indeed."

"Here," Fred said, plonking down several large cups on the table. "This'll warm you up."

"Fred," Hermione said sternly.

The twin assumed his most innocent expression. "It's the warmest drink they have."

Hermione settled into her chair, looking thoroughly displeased and sipping her own drink, which was identical.

"What are the ingredients?" Spock asked hesitantly.

"Just drink the damn thing, Spock," McCoy snapped. "It's Fred; he wouldn't exactly try to murder you, would he?"

"I might," Fred responded jokily, "if I was wearing Polyjuice..."

"That's not funny," Hermione snapped, "it's a very real danger."

Cautiously, Spock pulled it closer to himself, sniffing it delicately before taking a sip. And another. And another.

"Blimey," George said, winking at Hermione, "he's downing that quickly."

Spock surfaced momentarily, a moustache firmly in place. "It is of an agreeable temperature."

McCoy snorted. "Spock, you've got a little mous – how do you _do_ that?"

"Have we missed something?" George asked Fred.

"I was in full rant and you tricked me into stopping!"

"I did nothing deceitful, Leonard; you merely allowed the conversation to gravitate in this direction."

"How convenient. Like a true Slytherin."

Spock finished his drink. Fred eyed it in astonishment. "I'm amazed."

"Me too, Fred," George agreed, also staring at it.

"Why?" McCoy asked suspiciously.

George and Fred shifted slightly. It was Hermione who answered, disgust and disapproval written across her features. "They heard that Butterbeer made elves drunk..."

"I am not an elf," Spock said slowly, for what seemed like the hundredth time.

"We knew that," George defended, "but we wanted to see if it would work anyway."

"Vulcans are immune to the effects of alcohol."

"Anyway," Hermione added, "there isn't much in these Butterbeers. He'd have to drink a whole barrel to even start to get tipsy. There's a reason they're a students' drink."

Fred shrugged. "Worth a try."

"What _does_ get you drunk then," George asked curiously.

"I do not believe that it would be wise for that information to be made public knowledge."

"Aw," Fred said, "you know us; we'd promise to stop that from happening."

Spock's lips twitched. "That is precisely my cause for concern."

"You can trust us," George said.

"I think not."

George sighed. "Trust these days, Fred, no one has it."

"I couldn't agree more, George," Fred replied, putting on an insulted air as he drifted back to the counter to get another few Butterbeers.

For a few moments the conversation lapsed into comfortable silence, the only sound the slight slurping noises made when the twins took gulps from their cups, always spontaneously, grinning like mad. McCoy suspected they were doing it on purpose.

The door opened and with it, a cold breeze slunk quickly into the room, shutting out almost as suddenly as it had come, and Harry Potter sat at the table, looking distinctly shell shocked.

"You're early!" Hermione exclaimed, preoccupied with wiping off her foam moustache. "I thought you were with Cho, I didn't expect you for another hour at least. Fred, George, we're going to have to go over there...Len, Spock, you need to come with us..."

At a table slightly further away was Luna Lovegood and Rita Skeeter, engaged in slightly awkward conversation. Rita looked slightly bemused as she nodded along to Luna's ramblings about Snarkle Flies. The youth at the table tilted his head only slightly so that he could watch unobserved.

"What are you up to?" Harry asked, sitting down along with McCoy and Spock.

"I suppose I'm allowed to talk to them, am I?" Rita asked nastily, glaring at Hermione.

"Yes, I suppose so," Hermione snapped back.

"So," Rita said, pushing her unkempt hair off her face and surveying Harry through winged glasses, "I hear you're in love, Harry."

Harry glared at Luna, who looked back vaguely.

"Pretty girl, is she?"

"One more word about Harry's love life and the deal's off and that's a promise," Hermione said.

"What deal?" Rita asked irritably. "You haven't mentioned a deal yet, Miss Prissy, you just told me to turn up."

"That's the letter you wrote?" McCoy asked.

"Yes," Hermione nodded.

"Oh," Rita continued, oblivious to the interruption, "one of these days..."

"Yes, yes," Hermione said impatiently, "one of these days you'll write more horrible stories about Harry and me. Fine someone who cares, why don't you?"

"They've run plenty of horrible stories about Harry this year without my help. How does that make you feel, Harry? Betrayed? Distraught? Misunderstood?"

Harry opened his mouth to reply but Hermione beat him to it. "He feels angry, of course, because he's told the Minister for Magic the truth and the Minister's too much of an idiot to believe him."

"So you actually stick to it, do you, that He Who Must Not Be Named is back?"

Spock surveyed her calmly. "To deny the facts would be illogical."

"And you are?"

"Spock."

"Spock what?"

"Merely 'Spock'," Spock replied.

"How...unusual," Rita sniffed, before dismissing him and turning back to Harry. "You stand by all this garbage Dumbledore's been telling everybody about You-Know-Who returning and you being the sole witness?"

"I wasn't the sole witness," Harry snarled.

"Then of course there's his so-called disappearance..."

"We're living proof of that," McCoy protested.

"As for Voldemort's return," Harry said hotly, ignoring Rita's wince, "there were a dozen-odd Death Eaters there as well. Want their names?"

"I'd love them," Rita said softly, quill suddenly appearing at the ready. "A great bold headline: '_Potter Accuses...'_ A sub-heading, '_Harry Potter Names Death Eaters Still Among Us.'_ And then, beneath a nice big photograph of you, '_Disturbed-_"

"Harry is not disturbed," McCoy growled.

"- _teenage survivor of You-Know-Who's attack, Harry Potter, 15, caused outrage yesterday by accusing respectable and prominent members of the wizarding community of being Death Eaters...'_"

The Quick Quotes Quill twitched in the air before she suddenly seemed to lose all enthusiasm.

"But of course," she glared at Hermione, "Little Miss Perfect wouldn't want that story out there, would she?"

"As a matter of fact," Hermione retorted, "that's exactly what Little Miss Perfect _does_ want."

Luna, oblivious to the sudden tension, sang under her breath and sipped her cocktail.

"You _want_ me to report what he says about He Who Must Not Be Named?"

"And," Hermione added, "what these two," she indicated the two officers, "say about seeing him."

"We saw him disappear," McCoy pointed out. "Having us give statements won't achieve anything."

"Unless your statements are only vague accounts supporting what Harry saw."

Rita stared at Hermione. "With all that twisting of the truth, you could be a journalist, Little Miss Perfect."

"I think it's a horrible way to earn a living," Hermione said coldly. "There's no virtue in it."

"You'll do the article?" Harry asked.

Rita nodded. "But the _Prophet_ wouldn't print it. In case you haven't noticed, nobody believes his cock – and – bull story. Everyone thinks he's delusional."

"Perhaps because of how people like you portray it," McCoy snapped.

Rita ignored him. "We need a good story, so perhaps if you let me write from the delusional angle-"

"We don't need another story about how Harry's lost his marbles!" Hermione retorted. "We've had plenty of those already, thank you! I want him given the opportunity to tell the truth!"

"There's no market for a story like that."

"Because Fudge squashes it," McCoy said.

Rita seemed to see McCoy for the first time. "All right, Fudge is leaning on the _Prophet_," she admitted, "but it comes to the same thing. They won't print a story that shows Harry in a good light. Nobody wants to read it. It's against the public mood. This last Azkaban breakout has got people worried enough. People just don't want to believe You-Know-Who's back."

"It is imperative that they are informed nevertheless," Spock said quietly.

"Since the _Prophet_'s useless," Hermione said, "Luna says her father's quite happy to take Harry's interview. The Quibbler will be publishing it."

"_The Quibbler_?" Rita cackled, spraying drink everywhere. Several people stared. "You think people will take them seriously if it's printed in _The Quibbler_?"

"Some people won't," Hermione conceded, "but the Daily Prophet's version of the Azkaban breakout had some gaping holes in it."

"Like how Bellatrix Lestrange managed to escape, when she's already on the Enterprise," McCoy provided.

Hermione nodded. "I think a lot of people will be wondering whether there isn't a better explanation of what happened, and if there's an alternative news story available, even if it's published in a – in a-" She glanced at Luna, "-well, an _unusual_ magazine, I think they might be rather keen to read it."

"All right," Rita said, "let's say for a moment I'll do it. What kind of fee am I going to get?"

"I don't think Daddy exactly pays people to write for the magazine," Luna said vaguely. "They do it because it's an honour and, of course, to see their names in print."

Rita gaped. "I'm supposed to do this _for free_?"

"Well, yes," Hermione replied, unfazed. "Otherwise, as you very well know, I will inform the authorities that you are an unregistered Animagus. Of course, the _Prophet_ might give you rather a lot for an insider's account of life in Azkaban."

Rita looked murderous. "I don't suppose I've got any choice, have I?" She raised her quill once more and dug around for parchment.

"Daddy will be pleased," Luna said.

"Ok," Hermione said, turning to Harry, McCoy and Spock, "ready to tell the public the truth?"

From his corner table, the youth continued to watch, taking a short swig from a flask.


	33. Firenze

**33. Firenze.**

The results of the article were seen a week later, with the Great Hall suddenly becoming inundated with owls as they flew to deliver their letters. Kirk, who had been told about the newspaper article by McCoy, looked slightly amused as a letter dropped into his cereal.

"Looks like you've become famous, Bones. Just proves that it can follow you from universe to universe."

McCoy rolled his eyes and picked up the letter, which was sopping wet with milk. "I don't think I'll be able to read this."

"Sure you can," Ron said as he gave the owl a Knut and shooed it away. "Just dry it off."

"Oh, hand it here," Hermione said brusquely, taking the letter, waving it dry with one flick of her wand and handing it back.

"Has anyone ever told you you're bloody brilliant?"

"It's a standard spell, Ron," she replied, though she looked slightly pleased with herself.

"Looks like you've got some too," Ginny told Harry, pointing at several owls who were scrambling to reach him.

"Blimey! They just keep coming," Ron exclaimed, "can we-"

"Help yourself," Harry said.

They began ripping envelopes open.

"The Slytherins don't look too happy," Kirk observed, nodding across the Hall, where a surprised looking Spock was opening letters. Malfoy looked unenthusiastic as he watched.

"That's because they all support You-Know-Who," Ron said carelessly.

"Spock might have some trouble on his hands," Hermione said in concern.

"Malfoy only looks jealous," Harry observed.

"Hey!" Ron exclaimed, stalling all further discussion, "This one's from a bloke who thinks you're off your rocker...ah well..."

"This woman recommends you try a good course of Shock Spells at St Mungo's," Hermione reported, crumpling up her letter.

"This one's ok though," Harry said happily, "she says she believes me!"

Across the Hall, Spock had opened a Howler.

"-RUINING THE GOOD NAME OF SLYTHERIN!" It could be heard shrieking, sounding uncannily like Mrs Black. They could see Snape striding towards Spock, expression unfathomable.

"That doesn't look good," McCoy muttered as Snape beckoned Spock out the Great Hall, leaving Malfoy stuck with the Howler.

"-EXPECT MUCH BETTER THINGS, STUDENTS TODAY HAVE NO SENSE OF LOYALTY-"

"What do you think Snape'll do?" Harry asked.

"Curse Spock into the Stone Age," Ron said immediately, crumpling up another letter. "Another one who thinks you're barking..."

There was a burst of raucous laughter from the Slytherin table as they gathered round a letter, some pointing at Harry before laughing again.

"What is going on here?" Umbridge asked, having apparently materialised out of nowhere. "Why have you got all these letters?"

"Is that a crime now?" Fred challenged. "Getting mail?"

"Be careful, Mr Weasley, or I shall have to put you in detention. Well?" She said to Harry and McCoy.

"People have written to us," Harry said finally, "because we gave an interview about what happened last June."

"An interview?" Umbridge asked, her voice becoming squeaky. "What do you mean?"

"He means what the word 'interview' normally means," McCoy said acidly. "Look it up if you're not sure."

"Here." Harry threw a newspaper at her before she could punish McCoy, hitting her squarely in the face. "Sorry – er – my hand slipped," he said, sounding not sorry in the least. "Must be the lack of Quidditch practice..."

Umbridge was beginning to clash with her outfit. "When did you do this?"

"Last Hogsmeade weekend," Harry replied.

"There will be no more Hogsmeade trips for any of you."

"Professor," McCoy protested, "they didn't do anything."

"That hardly matters," Umbridge snapped. "How you dare...how you could..." she took a shockingly deep breath, her face inflating before she blew it out. "I have tried again and again to teach you not to tell lies. The message, apparently, has still not sunk in, Mr Potter. Fifty points from Gryffindor and another week's worth of detentions. That applies to you too, Mr McCoy."

She stalked off, breathing heavily, before they could answer back.

"It's worth it," Ron shrugged, diving back into the letters.

By lunchtime, signs had appeared all over the school, the message sounding slightly desperate despite its official wording.

BY ORDER OF THE HIGH INQUISITOR OF HOGWARTS

_Any student found in possession of the magazine _The Quibbler_ will be expelled._

_The above is in accordance with Educational Decree Number Twenty-seven._

_Signed: Dolores Jane Umbridge, High Inquisitor._

Hermione beamed with delight. "For once, I think I agree with her."

"You're mental!" Ron told her. "You went through all that to get the interview, and now you _agree_ with her?"

"Don't you see?" Hermione asked incredulously. "If she could have done one thing to make absolutely sure that every single person in this school will read the interview, it was banning it!"

"That is hardly a logical response to a command," Spock murmured.

"No," Hermione agreed, "but you have to admit that reverse psychology is useful."

"Indeed."

"So what did Snape want with you anyway?" Ron asked Spock as they continued down the corridor.

"He merely requested that I attempt not to draw more public attention to us."

"What did he think about the article?"

"His personal opinions were not voiced, Leonard."

"So he didn't try to expel you for opposing his 'Dark Lord'?" Ron asked suspiciously.

Spock raised an eyebrow. "That course of action was hardly available."

"Yeah, well," Harry continued viciously, "he can't exactly make it public he supports Voldemort, can he? Dumbledore would sack him."

The officers exchanged a look with Hermione but did not press the point, having already had this conversation many times before.

"Obviously," Hermione said cautiously, "he doesn't want you all getting kidnapped by Death Eaters-"

"Because it'd blow his cover with Dumbledore," Ron interrupted.

"Yes," Hermione looked slightly exasperated.

"Or put the school in danger," Kirk pointed out, after several moments of awkward silence.

"Why do you always defend Snape?" Harry demanded, looking angry.

"I just trust Dumbledore's judgement," Hermione said quietly.

"Snape hates me just as much as Voldemort does!"

"That doesn't mean he's on his side," Hermione said patiently.

"But-"

"Let's just let it drop," Kirk said hastily. "We're not going to get anywhere with this argument."

"How are the Slytherins reacting to this news?" McCoy asked Spock.

"They appear to be divided. Those whose parents were revealed to be Death Eaters are understandably upset-"

"Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle," Harry growled.

"Whilst others merely consider it to be an amusing turn of events."

"Because a Slytherin got part of the limelight?" Kirk asked in amusement.

"Indeed."

"So they don't all support Voldemort," Kirk deduced.

"As a matter of fact, many of them appear to promote the policies of Voldemort; however this may be a defence mechanism."

"To keep them safe in school until they can leave and oppose him publicly," McCoy said.

"Affirmative."

"So is Malfoy angry with you?" Ron asked hopefully.

"Negative. Mr Malfoy is directing the majority of his anger-"

"At me," Harry interrupted bitterly.

Spock nodded. "I of course provided no specific information for the article."

"Just a vague support of what _I_ said," McCoy said. "You know, you could have been more forthright."

"That would have achieved little, Leonard, as I would have lost favour with many of the Slytherin students."

"But the best bit," Hermione said, stopping the brewing argument "is that no one can contradict you because they can't admit they read the article."

But the Slytherins found other ways to mock both Harry and the Gryffindors, especially after the disastrous Quidditch match against Hufflepuff. The only redeeming factor about their enthusiasm was that their song 'Weasley is our King' had finally been banned from the corridors, on the grounds that it was giving Filch a headache.

Snape, meanwhile, was becoming obviously more frustrated with Harry as time wore on. In addition to the many more 'D' grades in class, his snide comments increased dramatically, even more disgust lacing his features whenever they were forced into contact. Even with Spock's help and teaching of the Vulcan mind disciplines, Harry's dreams were continuing, the detail disturbingly real. In fact, they got worse and worse the more time went on, due to Harry's lack of motivation when it came to practicing. It was as though he wanted the dreams, the need for information seemingly outweighing the risk in Harry's opinion.

Snape seemed to realise the same thing, and it did nothing to improve his behaviour during the Occlumency sessions.

"Get up!" The Potions Master ordered when Harry failed yet again. "Who was that man, Potter?"

"I don't know."

Snape didn't look convinced. "You have not been practicing."

"I have!"

"Do not lie to me, Potter, I know that you have not practiced. Any scene where the Dark Lord is in captivity is clearly a recent one. Who is the man in red?"

"I told you, I don't know!" Harry spat.

"His name is Mr Scott," Spock intoned. "He is no doubt interrogating Voldemort."

"I see," Snape replied, turning back to Harry, looking extremely annoyed. "You do know why we are here, don't you, Potter? You do know why we are giving up our evenings to do this tedious job?"

"Yes."

"Yet you fail to practice," Snape snapped. "You refuse to acknowledge the danger of your connection with the Dark Lord. You are not trying!"

"I am!"

"Perhaps," Snape said quietly, "you actually enjoy having the visions and dreams, Potter. Maybe they make you feel special – important?"

"No, they don't."

"That is just as well, Potter, because you are neither special nor important-"

"Professor," Spock intoned quietly, "this is hardly appropriate."

"_I_ am the teacher, Mr Spock. It is my job to remind students of the facts, particularly," he shot a glare at Harry, "the slower of the class. Now, if you are ready," he said swiftly, "we will start again."

He raised his wand. "One – two – three – _Legilimens_!"

Breathing hard, eyes screwed up in concentration, Harry raised his wand, determination spurring his next word.

"_Protego_!"

The unthinkable happened. Snape, halfway through breaking into Harry's mind, staggered and began to fall to the ground, knocked off balance by the spell.

Acting on impulse and training, Spock reached out to steady him...

A hook nosed man was screaming insults at a cowering woman, while a small boy cried in the corner, his body as small as he could make it so as not to attract attention...

The memory skipped, focussing on an older version of the boy, hair dark and greasy from neglect, pointing a wand at the ceiling, listlessly knocking down flies.

Realising what had happened, Spock and Snape worked together, creating a barrier to Harry's mind, but not before the image of a malnourished boy falling off a broomstick surfaced, the laughter of a long grown up girl echoing in their ears.

Blocking himself from the memories, Spock withdrew, trying to ignore the black waves of anger and humiliation directed at the student lying on the floor, water dripping onto him from a ruptured tank.

Standing next to Spock, Snape was shaking from the sudden rush of emotion, his face too pale. He was glaring at Harry, who still seemed slightly dazed.

_"Reparo_." The jar began to refill with the liquid which had soaked Harry's robes.

"Well," Snape snarled after several moments, in his wrath ignoring Spock completely, "Potter...that was certainly an improvement..."

There was a heavy silence as Snape straightened the Pensieve, as if to reassure himself the memories were still there. His chest was heaving.

"I don't remember telling you to use a Shield Charm...but there is no doubt that it was effective..."

Harry seemed too terrified and shocked to speak, surveying the Potions Master with slightly wide eyes.

With what seemed like an effort, Snape collected himself. "Let's try again, shall we?"

Still Harry said nothing, but regained his footing and lifted his eyes to meet Snape's.

"On the count of three, then. One – two – _Legilimens_!"

Snape smirked as Harry was thrown off guard by the abrupt attack, lost in a swirling vortex of memories. The smirk faded from his face even as Harry shouted out in triumph, and the spell was lifted.

"POTTER!"

Snape stalked forwards to tower over the fallen teenager, his entire demeanour more foreboding than ever.

"Explain yourself!"

"I...dunno what happened..." Harry said, standing up. "I've never seen that before. I mean, I told you, I've dreamed about the door...but it's never opened before..."

"You are not working hard enough!" Snape said angrily. "You have two teachers at your disposal and yet you fail to recognise the opportunity! You are lazy and sloppy, Potter, it is small wonder that the Dark Lord-"

"Can you tell me something, _sir_?" Harry demanded angrily, glaring daggers at Snape. "Why do you call Voldemort the Dark Lord? I've only ever heard Death Eaters call him that."

Before Snape could answer, there was a high pitched scream, the anguished sound echoing around the castle. Spock's head jerked towards the door while Snape seemed to stare through the ceiling, forgetting Harry completely.

For once all agreeing on something, they hurriedly exited the office and followed the voice to the Entrance Hall, not entirely surprised to see it packed with watching students.

In the middle of the rind of onlookers and looking faintly like a dishevelled drunkard, Professor Trelawney clutched a sherry bottle as though it could save her from Umbridge, who was smirking at her in disgusting triumph.

Trelawney sidestepped her bags, putting herself closer to her tormentor. With her shrieking voice, trailing scarves and wild hair, she looked almost like a creation from a horror movie.

"No!" She shrieked. "NO! This cannot be happening...it cannot...I refuse to accept it!"

"You didn't realise this was coming?" Umbridge questioned, sounding amused. "Incapable though you are of predicting even tomorrow's weather, you must surely have realised that your pitiful performance during my inspections, and lack of any improvement, would make it inevitable that you would be sacked?"

There were tears running down Trelawney's face now, rendering her almost incoherent. "You c-can't! You c-can't sack me! I've b-been here sixteen years! H-Hogwarts is m-my h-home!"

"It _was_ your home," Umbridge said callously, a smile stretching her face, "until an hour ago, when the Minister for Magic countersigned your Order of Dismissal. Now kindly remove yourself from this Hall. You are embarrassing us."

There was a ripple of outrage through the crowd. As far away from Harry as he could get, Snape was watching the scene, his face impassive.

McGonagall broke away from the group, the only one to even think about bringing Trelawney any comfort. "There, there, Sybill..." she produced a handkerchief from within her robes and held it out kindly.

"Calm down...blow your nose on this...it's not as bad as you think, now...you are not going to have to leave Hogwarts..."

Unfortunately Umbridge heard this and took an angry step forward, clearly desperate to save her reputation after the previous fiasco in her class. "Oh really, Professor McGonagall? And your authority for that statement is...?"

"That," a voice said loudly, "would be mine."

The great oaken doors opened to reveal Professor Dumbledore, framed majestically by the dark and misty night. The doors closed with a thud upon the silence and Dumbledore strode forward.

"Yours, Professor Dumbledore?" Umbridge laughed. "I'm afraid you do not understand the position. I have here-" she withdrew some parchment, "-an Order of Dismissal signed by myself and the Minister for Magic. Under the terms of Educational Decree Number Twenty-three, the High Inquisitor of Hogwarts has the power to inspect, place upon probation and sack any other teacher she – that is to say, I – feel is not performing to the standards required by the Ministry of Magic. I have decided that Professor Trelawney is not up to scratch. I have dismissed her."

Dumbledore simply smiles, to Umbridge's apparent confusion and rage.

"You are quite right, of course, Professor Umbridge. As High Inquisitor you have every right to dismiss my teachers. You do not, however, have the authority to send them away from the castle. I am afraid that the power to do that still resides with the Headmaster, and it is my wish that Professor Trelawney continue to live at Hogwarts."

Trelawney hiccoughed. "No – no, I'll g-go, Dumbledore!" She said theatrically. "I sh-shall – leave Hogwarts and s-seek my fortune elsewhere-"

"No. It is my wish that you remain, Sybill." He turned to a sympathetic looking McGonagall. "Might I ask that you escort Sybill back upstairs, Professor McGonagall?"

"Of course. Up you get, Sybill..."

Sprout came out of the crowd and helped to guide Trelawney back up the steps, while Professor Flitwick collected the trunks and followed, hovering them before him.

Umbridge looked furious. "And what are you going to do with her once I appoint a new Divination teacher who needs her lodgings?"

"Oh, that won't be a problem. You see, I have already found us a new Divination teacher, and he will prefer lodgings on the ground floor."

"You've found-" Umbridge was beside herself with indignation. "_You've_ found? Might I remind you, Dumbledore, that under Educational Decree Number Twenty-two-"

"The Ministry has the right to appoint a suitable candidate if – and only if – the Headmaster is unable to find one. And I am happy to say that on this occasion I have succeeded. May I introduce you?"

Without waiting for an answer he turned towards the doors, which swung open once more, this time allowing the sound of hooves to drift in with the mist.

Students began almost tripping over themselves to make way for the handsome centaur, some gaping in shock. Umbridge looked ready to faint.

"This is Firenze," Dumbledore said happily. "I think you'll find him suitable."

In the heavy silence that followed, a laugh could be heard along with a single word.

"Excellent!"


	34. Death of the DA

**34. Death of the DA.**

"Right," Harry said once a sizable group had turned up in the Room of Requirement. "Is everyone here?"

There were several murmurs of assent.

"Great. Now, I thought that this time we'd start something a bit more advanced, since you're all getting so good. Who wants to learn how to make a Patronus?" He asked them, grinning.

"Do you think we're ready?" Neville asked on behalf of the group.

"I think you're more than ready. You've all held your own in duels and you can all cast the other charms I've taught you, so I don't see why not. It's a really great feeling," he continued enthusiastically, "when you manage to do it."

"I wish I could do one," McCoy muttered.

"You have expressed no previous interest in performing magic," Spock pointed out.

"I know, but I just want to see what mine would look like. From a psychologist's point of view, of course," he said quickly.

"Of course."

"Oh, I think we all know what it'd be," Kirk chuckled. "Probably something Sick Bay related..."

McCoy scowled. "Test tubes can be threatening."

"Threatening enough to scare away a Dementor?" Kirk challenged, smiling playfully.

"So," Harry said loudly, hiding his amusement with difficulty, "has anyone ever seen a Patronus?"

A few people raised their hands.

"I've seen my Dad make one to send messages," one of them, a short blond girl, said.

"What did it look like?"

"Er..." Clearly she was embarrassed. "It was a penguin..."

Several people snorted and she turned bright pink.

"Well, that's good!" Harry said awkwardly. "Really good – so you've seen a real Patronus, that might give you a head start, since you already know when to use it...Has anyone actually produced one?"

The remaining hands went down.

"It's actually quite easy," Harry told them. "Well," he amended, "depending on the circumstances...obviously it's easier to conjure when a Dementor isn't too close..."

"How close have you been to one?" Someone asked.

"I was almost kissed," Harry said quietly. "I managed to drive it away, though – all you need is concentration and the right memory."

"How are you supposed to concentrate when something's about to suck out your soul?" Someone else scoffed.

"Well," Harry said, "er – there's not really any good way to practice that here without getting a Dementor-"

"Which we can't do," Hermione said firmly.

"-exactly," Harry continued, "so we'll have to compromise. We can't even use a boggart because not everyone's worst fear is a Dementor – so all we can really do is try to distract each other."

"Which we'll do," Kirk volunteered, "since we won't be able to practice the spell."

Harry nodded in approval. "Good. Right – Patronuses!" He announced, giving the audience an encompassing glance before carrying on. "As you probably know, a Patronus reflects a person's character and can be used in danger for protection, so-"

"Can they reflect memories?" The girl whose father had a penguin Patronus asked.

"What makes you say that?"

"Well," the girl explained, nervous at all the eyes on her, "if the memory used to fuel the Patronus was important – I mean, if it had a big influence on that person, so it defines their character..."

"Is that why your Dad's is a penguin?"

"Yeah," she replied, relieved that Harry understood. "He works with them – it's his first steady job after – well," she said quickly, her voice getting quieter, "that job helped him turn his life around."

"That could actually be true," Hermione said. "Your Patronus is a reflection of your father, Harry, and he had an impact on you..."

"Yeah," Harry agreed, looking surprised, "it could be true."

"It's definitely something to think about," McCoy added.

"So, yeah," Harry continued, "a Patronus is conjured from something readily available, so it's quick to appear in danger, like a recent memory or an image of a loved one."

"How do you cast it then?" Ginny asked, more for the benefit of the class than for herself, since she knew someone who could do it easily.

"You think of the happiest thing you can," Harry replied, "and focus on it, really concentrate, then you say 'expecto patronum' and it should happen."

"Are we trying it now?" Ginny asked eagerly.

"Why not? We'll see how you do casting it on your own, then for those who get the hang of it, a distraction will be thrown in-"

Kirk smoothed back his hair and grinned. "My time to shine."

The audience laughed while McCoy rolled his eyes. Soon afterwards everybody scrambled to their feet and began drifting off to other parts of the room, some standing in small groups while others remained alone, depending on their work preferences.

"This class is really coming along," Kirk commented as they watched silver puffs fly from wand tips. "It's strange to think that not long ago some of them couldn't even disarm a still opponent."

"Indeed, it has been a most intriguing process to witness."

"They're getting better at self defence too," Kirk added. "Much quicker than I expected."

"Yet I still can't do any of it," McCoy grumbled, "and I have two exercise enthusiasts standing right next to me."

"Your failure to master the skill lies only in your lack of motivation, Leonard."

"It's hard to be motivated when you're getting slapped repeatedly in the face by the floor every five seconds."

"If you were motivated though," Kirk retorted, "you wouldn't have that problem."

"Shut up."

"Relax, Bones, I'm sure you'll get it eventually, right Spock?"

Spock raised his eyebrow. "I believe the correct idiom would be 'do not hold your breath'."

"Thanks," McCoy muttered, "you really know how to reassure a man, you know that? They should _never_ have given you that damn dictionary."

"I think it's good he's broadening his horizons a bit," Kirk defended. "It means he understands my cheesy pick up lines."

"'Sleazy' would be a better word," McCoy snorted.

"Jim," Spock said seriously, "on occasion, even the dictionary cannot aid in my unravelling your hormone influenced phrases."

"...I take it back," Kirk said, but with a smile on his face.

"I'm surprised you don't use the phrases more often."

"That would be inappropriate, Leonard."

"Not really," Kirk mused. "I'm sure that you'd get someone if you tried a pick up line."

Spock did not look convinced.

McCoy snorted. "Are you kidding? An answering phone would have more chance than him."

"Do Vulcan pick up lines actually exist?" Kirk asked suddenly.

"I am unaware of their existence," Spock said drily.

"Come on, Jim, they'd be stuff like 'do you frequent this area often' or 'I wish to further comprehend your biological structure'..."

"I'm sure they'd have better ones than that."

"Don't count on it."

"Would you ever use any, Spock?" Kirk asked.

"Negative."

Kirk looked faintly disappointed. "Not even to be funny?"

"Vulcans do not endeavour to induce humour."

"Funny," McCoy muttered, "the way you all talk I thought that's all you ever did..."

"Leonard, that remark is hardly insightful."

"It wasn't meant to be."

"When is it ever?" Kirk teased. "If you were the next Plato, I think we'd all be in trouble. You wouldn't be able to find your way out of the cave."

"Very funny, Jim."

"Isn't it?" Kirk grinned, knowing he'd well and truly wound McCoy up.

As if out of nowhere, a silver otter swam through the air and made a beeline for Spock's head, going round and round it like a living halo before finally perching itself on the immaculately styled hair.

Spock's eyebrows were doing press-ups. "Fascinating."

"Sorry!" Hermione exclaimed, bustling over to them. "I still can't control which way it goes – it has a mind of its own, I think..."

"It is of no consequence."

"You've made a Patronus already?" McCoy asked, not really surprised.

"It took a couple of attempts," Hermione replied, still trying to get the silver animal off Spock's head, "but I got it in the end."

"We can see that," McCoy chuckled, watching as the otter dived off Spock's head and gradually faded out.

"Did you feel it?" Kirk asked curiously.

"Negative."

"Not even a tingle of magic?"

"I encountered no unusual physical sensation."

"I'm sorry," Hermione apologised again before hurrying off, no doubt to practice some more.

Around the room, the rest of the DA could be seen muttering the incantation, a few doing elaborate swirls with their wands while a few stood stock still. No one else had achieved more than a wisp.

"Alright, stop!" Harry shouted over the murmur of voices. "Stop! That was a really good first attempt," he continued when he had everyone's attention, "but some of you are waving your wands too much. Remember, it's just like the other spells I've taught you – just because it has more power to it doesn't mean you need a different wand movement. Relax your arm, but not too much, okay? Let's try again, then."

This time, the activity was much more restrained as everyone seemed to lose their desperation to be perfect first time around. Instead, their focus was inwards, and there were less conversations in the background from frustrated DA members. Soon, the ceiling of the room was filled with creatures.

"Holy-" McCoy dived to the side as a Great White shark made a lunge for his head, closely followed by a sword fish who had aimed for his heart with a particularly hungry glint in its transparent eye.

"They're not real, Bones," Kirk reminded him.

"I know that – I acted on instinct."

"Whatever you say."

"Oh shut up," McCoy snapped. "Who's got the psychology degree here anyway?"

"Excellent!" Harry shouted out, looking proud. "Well done, everyone, really well done, that's advanced stuff..."

"What do we do now?" Ginny asked, lazily using her wand to make her Patronus perform mid-air tricks.

"Now," Harry said cheerfully, "you practice conjuring one while being distracted. It's getting late, so we really only have time for a few attempts each."

"Right!" Kirk said, clapping his hands together, "let's see what we can do..."

He immediately descended upon Ron Weasley, who had yet to cast his Patronus, while McCoy and Spock drifted to other ends of the room, searching for a victim.

"Hello, Ron."

Ron didn't answer, his face screwed up in concentration.

"You know, you're supposed to answer a greeting like that."

"...don't," Ron muttered, distracted. Only a wisp exited the end of his wand.

"I think you might have," Kirk said cheerfully. "So, how do you feel about Professor Trelawney's homework? Personally, I never remember any of my dreams..."

"Expecto patronum," Ron muttered.

"That's not much of an answer."

"You're distracting me," Ron accused.

"That's my job. Someone has to do it," Kirk babbled, shifting on his feet as much as he could in an effort to distract the student. "The pay is never good – in fact, there isn't any, but there's a lot of job satisfaction. Babbling is what I do best, actually, that's why I'm so good at getting politicians to agree with me – they just want me to shut up. Star Fleet loves it."

"_Expecto Patronum_," Ron said, slightly desperate.

"I love the sound of spells, actually, now I think of it," Kirk continued blithely. "I wonder if there are any that rhyme..."

"_EXPECTO_-"

"Then again," Kirk interrupted, throwing Ron completely off track, "they might not, that would just make it too easy and clichéd."

"...Patronum," Ron finished in a small voice, annoyed.

A small burst of silver.

"You need a bit more determination, I think. It's a lovely effect," Kirk babbled, "the silver. If there was some way of solidifying it, it would look _great_ on a Christmas tree. Maybe it could even be fake snow for the nativity plays on the planet Navidad, the snow is silver there, you-"

"I can't bloody concentrate!" Ron shouted.

"That's the general idea."

"You're taking it too far!"

"Not at all. As I was saying," Kirk continued, ignoring Ron's growl, "the snow is silver but the rain is purple. It's really weird, actually, considering they're both forms of precipitation-"

"_EXPECTO PATRONUM!_"

A large weasel began scurrying around the room. Ron looked immensely relieved.

"You did it!" Kirk exclaimed, slapping the youth on the back. "Which memory did you use?"

"I didn't use a memory," Ron said smugly, "I imagined all the different ways I could shut you up."

"Well that wasn't very-"

"Harry Potter!" A high pitched voice squeaked, announcing the sudden arrival of Dobby. "Harry Potter, sir!"

The elf ran over to Harry immediately, his eyes wide with terror and his frame shaking so much that it was a wonder he could stand.

"What's wrong?"

"Harry Potter, sir...Harry Potter, sir..." the elf seemed to have to collect himself before he could carry on. "Dobby has come to warn you...but the house-elves have been warned not to tell..."

Then to everyone's horror he ran head first towards the wall, Harry lunged but missed him by centimetres. The many knitted hats he usually wore cushioned his blow and he bounced backwards, stumbling.

Harry physically restrained him. "What happened, Dobby?"

"Harry Potter...she...she..."

"Who's 'she', Dobby?"

"Umbridge," Kirk guessed when Dobby tried to wriggle free of Harry's grasp to punish himself.

"What about her?" Harry asked nervously. "Dobby – she hasn't found out about this – about us – about the DA?"

The house elf nodded.

"Is she coming?" Harry whispered.

"Yes, Harry Potter, yes!"

"Ok, everyone out!" Kirk commanded, sprinting to the door and holding it open.

No one moved.

"WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR?" Harry bellowed. "RUN!"

Suddenly, the silent and shocked crowd transformed into a shrieking stampede, each of them jostling everyone else out of their way in their attempt to escape.

"Quietly!" Kirk roared above the noise. "Quietly or you'll get caught!"

Without warning, two other doors appeared, the room perhaps having sensed their desperate need to escape. Parts of the main crowd broke off and began to use the extra doors. Their footsteps could be heard as they hurtled down the corridor, until only Harry was left.

"Dobby," Harry said, scooping up the tiny elf so they were at eye level, "this is an order – get back down to the kitchen with the other elves and, if she asks you whether you warned me, lie and say no!" He let the elf go. "And I forbid you to hurt yourself!"

"Thank you, Harry Potter!" Dobby was soon gone from sight.

"Harry, you need to go!" Kirk said, indicating the door with his head.

"Right..."

The teenager ran into the corridor, his feet almost a blur as Kirk shut the door behind him and willed the room back to normal. He was just about to make his way over to Spock and McCoy when he heard a shout of surprise.

Yanking the door back open, he fixed his best commanding glare on his friends. "Stay here."

"But-"

"That's an order, Bones! Stay here!"

Not even waiting to see McCoy's reaction, he sprinted in the direction he had last seen Harry take. He was soon rewarded with the sight of Harry struggling to stand up after a leg binding hex, glaring at a smug looking Malfoy.

He barely had time to take in the scene and begin to run forwards to try to disarm Malfoy when a second pair of footsteps stopped him, the voice sending a chill down his spine.

"Excellent, Draco, excellent," Umbridge panted, coming to a halt in front of them both. "Oh, very good – fifty points to Slytherin! I'll take care of them from here..."

She seized Harry's arm tightly and pointed her drawn wand at Kirk, eyes glittering with victory. Malfoy stood to the side, watching proudly.

"You hop along and see if you can round up anymore of them, Draco. Tell the others to look in the library – anybody out of breath – get Miss Parkinson to check the girls' bathrooms – off you go."

Malfoy ran off obediently, almost gleeful in his task, though Kirk could have sworn he saw a smirk slide into place when Umbridge wasn't watching.

"Now, you two – you can come with me to the Headmaster's office."

Grinning madly, Umbridge forced them through the silent corridors to the stone gargoyle, the journey shorter than ever in her determination. There was no sign of any other fights as DA members tried to escape; it was almost too quiet.

"Fizzing Whizzbee." Once upstairs she did not bother to even knock, but simply strode in as though she owned the office.

Dumbledore was sat behind his desk as always, his expression completely calm and unruffled despite the fact that Umbridge had brought with her what essentially were two prisoners. McGonagall on the other hand was extremely tense as she stood beside him, her mouth set into a rigid line that could not bode well for Umbridge. The Minister for Magic himself was bouncing on his toes, while a few Aurors stood around the room. A tall and wiry young man with bright red hair looked just as excited, his quill and parchment already out and ready for note taking.

Something striking him as familiar, Kirk stared at the man, wondering if he had met him before. It was only when he saw Harry giving the man the deepest look of disgust that he had ever seen from the boy did he realise. This man had the same hair, the same facial structure, as the rest of the Weasley family. And, judging by Harry's reaction to him, it had to be Percy Weasley, the one who had refused to visit on Christmas Day.

"Well," Fudge said, eying them both. "Well, well, well..."

Umbridge simpered triumphantly. "They were heading to Gryffindor Tower. The Malfoy boy cornered them."

"Did he, did he?" Fudge asked cheerfully. "I must remember to tell Lucius. Well, Potter...and whoever you are," he added, looking at Kirk.

"I'm Captain Kirk. Star Fleet officer."

Fudge seemed to be deciding whether or not to snort in disbelief or glance accusingly at Dumbledore. "Yes, well," he said finally, "we've all heard _that_ story...now, I expect you know why you are here?"

They spoke at the same time.

Kirk, fully used to lying through his teeth in front of people of higher authority, remained calm. "No."

Harry, who had been halfway through his answer, glanced at him quickly. "Ye – no."

"I beg your pardon?" Fudge said.

"No," they both repeated firmly.

"You _don't_ know why you are here?"

"No," Kirk replied, maintaining eye contact. "We don't."

"So you have no idea," Fudge said sarcastically, "why Professor Umbridge has brought you to this office? You are not aware you have broken any school rules?"

"School rules?" Harry repeated innocently. "No."

"Or Ministry Decrees?"

"Not that we know of," Kirk replied pointedly.

"So it's news to you, is it," Fudge said angrily, "that an illegal student organisation has been discovered in this school?"

"Yes," they replied together.

Dumbledore, who had been watching the exchange, gave them the tiniest of winks before his expression went blank again.

"I think, Minister," Umbridge said sweetly, "we might make better progress if I fetch our informant."

"Yes, yes, do so."

Umbridge left the room as Fudge turned to Dumbledore.

"There's nothing like a good witness, is there, Dumbledore?"

Dumbledore inclined his head politely. "Nothing at all."

Looking at the older wizard, Kirk suddenly found himself wondering which house he had been in. He certainly bent the rules and mislead people like a Slytherin, but he was a genius – true Ravenclaw material. Given their current situation, he knew he probably wouldn't be in the castle long enough to find out. He could only hope that McCoy and Spock had followed his orders and remained hidden.

A few minutes later, Umbridge opened the door and moved into the room, her arm draped around a DA member's shoulders. Kirk recognised her as Cho's friend, Marietta, who had been originally reluctant to join. She had her face hidden in her hands.

"Don't be scared, dear, don't be frightened," Umbridge cooed, patting her back. "It's quite alright, now. You have done the right thing. The Minister is very pleased with you. He'll be telling your mother what a good girl you've been. Marietta's mother, Minister," she added, "is Madam Edgecombe from the Department of Magical Transportation, Floo Network office – she's been helping us with the Hogwarts fires, you know."

Fudge looked beside himself. "Jolly good, jolly good!" He chirped enthusiastically. "Like mother, like daughter, eh? Well, come on, now, dear, look up, don't be shy. Let's hear what you've got to – galloping gargoyles!"

"That's a new one," Kirk muttered as Fudge jumped backwards into the fire in shock, staring at Marietta, before jumping back forwards with a curse and stomping on his smoking robes.

Marietta, with a wail, pulled the collar of her robe over her eyes, but too late. Everyone had already seen the disfiguring spots, the spelled out the word 'SNEAK' on her nose and cheeks.

"Never mind the spots now, dear," Umbridge said, "just take your robes away from your mouth and tell the Minister-"

The robes shook frantically as Marietta wailed in protest.

"Oh, very well, you silly girl, _I'll_ tell him," Umbridge snapped, losing her patience. "Well, Minister," she simpered, a dramatic change in mood, "Miss Edgecombe here came to my office shortly after dinner this evening and told me she had something she wanted to tell me. She told me that if I proceeded to a secret room on the seventh floor, sometimes known as the Room of Requirement, I would find out something to my advantage. I questioned her a little further and she admitted that there was to be some kind of meeting there. Unfortunately, at that point this hex," she indicated the hidden face, "came into operation and upon catching sight of her face in my mirror the girl became too distressed to tell me anymore."

"Well, now," Fudge said softly, "it is very brave of you, my dear, coming to tell Professor Umbridge. You did exactly the right thing. Now, will you tell me what happened at this meeting? What was its purpose? Who was there?"

Marietta shook her head.

"Haven't we got a counter-jinx for this?" Fudge demanded. "So she can speak freely?"

"I have not yet managed to find one," Umbridge admitted. "But it doesn't matter if she won't speak, I can take up the story from here.

"You will remember, Minister," she continued, "that I sent you a report back in October that Potter had met a number of fellow students in the Hog's Head at Hogsmeade-"

"And what is your evidence for that?" McGonagall demanded sharply.

"I have testimony from Willy Widdershins, Minerva, who happened to be in the bar at the time. He was heavily bandaged, it is true, but his hearing was unimpaired. He overheard every word Potter said and hastened straight to the school to report to me-"

"Oh," snapped McGonagall, "so _that's_ why he wasn't prosecuted for setting up all those regurgitating toilets! What an interesting insight into our justice system!"

"Blatant corruption!" A portrait roared. "The Ministry did not cut deals with petty criminals in my day, no sir, they did not!"

"Thank you, Fortescue, that will do," Dumbledore said mildly.

"The purpose of Potter's meeting with the students," Professor Umbridge continued, "was to persuade them to join an illegal society, whose aim was to learn spells and curses the Ministry has decided are inappropriate for school-age-"

"I think," Dumbledore interrupted calmly, "you'll find you're wrong there, Dolores."

"Oho!" Fudge was bouncing up and down again. "Yes, do let's hear the latest cock-and-bull story designed to pull Potter out of trouble! Go on, then, Dumbledore, go on – Willy Widdershins was lying, was he? Or was it Potter's identical twin in the Hogs's Head that day? I heard Professor Snape was in Hogsmeade at the time, we could bring him up and ask him – we haven't done so yet – I'm sure he'd love to offer us his opinion-"

Dumbledore smiled. "Cornelius, I do not deny – and nor, I am sure, does Harry – that he was in the Hog's Head that day, nor that he was trying to recruit students to a Defence Against the Dark Arts group. I am merely pointing out that Dolores is quite wrong to suggest that such a group was, at the time, illegal. If you remember, the Ministry Decree banning all student societies was not put into effect until two days after the first meeting, so he was not breaking any rules at the Hog's Head."

"That's all very fine, Headmaster," Umbridge simpered, the first to recover from the blow, "but we are now nearly six months from the introduction of Educational Decree Number Twenty-four. If the first meeting was not illegal, all those that have happened since most certainly are."

"Well," Dumbledore replied calmly, "they certainly _would_ be, if they _had_ continued after the Decree came into effect. Do you have any evidence that any such meetings continued?"

Kirk stared at Dumbledore with a mixture of admiration and amusement. Harry simply blinked.

"Evidence?" Repeated Umbridge. "Have you not been listening, Dumbledore? Why do you think Miss Edgecombe is here?"

Dumbledore continued to smile. "Oh, can she tell us about six months' worth of meetings? I was under the impression that she was merely reporting a meeting tonight."

"Miss Edgecombe," Umbridge ordered, "tell us how long these meetings have been going on, dear. You can simply nod or shake your head, I'm sure that won't make the spots worse. Have they been happening regularly over the last six months?"

Marietta's eyes, which were now peeking over her collar, were strangely blank.

"Just nod or shake your head, dear," Umbridge said, "come on, now, that won't re-activate the jinx."

Marietta shook her head.

Umbridge was clearly beginning to panic. "I don't think you understood the question, did you, dear? I'm asking you whether you've been going to these meetings for the past six months? You have, haven't you?"

Marietta shook her head.

Umbridge was now glancing between everyone in the room. "What do you mean by shaking your head, dear?"

"I would have thought the meaning was quite clear," McGonagall snapped. "There have been no secret meeting for the past six months. Is that correct, Miss Edgecombe?"

Marietta nodded.

As Umbridge quivered with fury, Kirk idly wondered how she had failed to notice what had happened.

"But there was a meeting tonight! There was a meeting, Miss Edgecombe, you told me about it, in the Room of Requirement! And Potter was the leader, was he not, Kirk helped organise it – _why are you shaking your head, girl?_"

"Well," McGonagall said scornfully, "usually when a person shakes their head, they mean 'no'. So unless Miss Edgecombe is using a form of sign language as yet unknown to humans-"

Umbridge began shaking Marietta furiously and Dumbledore sprang to his feet, wand in hand, expression stormy. Umbridge backed away immediately.

"I cannot allow you to manhandle my students, Dolores."

"You want to calm yourself, Madam Umbridge," an Auror Kirk didn't recognise advised. "You don't want to get yourself into trouble, now."

"No...I mean, yes –you're right, Shacklebolt – I – I forgot myself."

Kirk glanced to the side and saw, to his approval, that Harry's eyes were wide with understanding as he stared at Marietta.

"Dolores," Fudge said, "the meeting tonight – the one we know definitely happened-"

"Yes," Umbridge interrupted, composing herself with effort. "Yes...well, Miss Edgecombe tipped me off and I proceeded at once to the seventh floor, accompanied by certain _trustworthy_ students, so as to catch those in the meeting red-handed. It appears that they were forewarned of my arrival, however, because when we reached the seventh floor they were running in every direction. It does not matter, however. I have all their names here, Miss Parkinson ran into the Room of Requirement for me to see if they had left anything behind. We needed evidence and the room provided."

Kirk's heart stopped. Casting his mind back, he searched desperately for the memory where he changed the room back to normal, realising as he did so that he had missed something important-

Umbridge held up the list of members with a flourish.

"The moment I saw Potter's name on the list, I knew what we were dealing with."

"Excellent!" Fudge exclaimed happily. "Excellent, Dolores. And...by thunder..."

He glanced up at Dumbledore with an air of surprised triumph.

"See what they've named themselves? _Dumbledore's Army_."

For the briefest instance, shock flickered across Dumbledore's face before it was masked with a smile. "Well, the game is up. Would you like a written confession from me, Cornelius – or will a statement before these witnesses suffice?"

The portraits began to murmur.

"Statement?" Fudge asked blankly. "What – I don't-"

"Dumbledore's Army, Cornelius. Not Potter's Army. _Dumbledore's Army_."

"But – but-"

Fudge took a step backwards and then forwards again, stamping out smoking robes once more. It was as though he was inventing a bizarre new form of the Hokey Cokey.

"You?" He whispered finally.

"That's right," Dumbledore replied calmly.

"You organised this?"

"I did."

"You recruited these students for – for your army?"

Dumbledore nodded, his eyes twinkling. "Tonight was supposed to be the first meeting. Merely to see whether they would be interested in joining me. I see now that it was a mistake to invite Miss Edgecombe, of course."

Marietta nodded vaguely and Kirk gave an internal groan of despair, but knew better than to interrupt. Harry looked horrified.

"Then you _have_ been plotting against me!" Fudge yelped.

"That's right."

"NO!" Harry bellowed before Kirk could stop him. "NO – Professor Dumbledore - !"

"Be quiet, Harry, or I am afraid you will have to leave my office."

"Yes," Fudge crowed, "shut up, Potter! Well, well, well – I came here tonight expecting to expel these two and instead-"

"Instead you get to arrest me," Dumbledore said cheerfully. "It's like losing a Knut and finding a Galleon, isn't it?"

Fudge was almost jumping in the air now. "Weasley! Weasley, have you written it all down, everything he's said, his confession, have you got it?"

"Yes, sir, I think so, sir!"

"The bit about how he's been trying to build up an army against the Ministry, how he's been working to destabilise me?"

"Yes, sir, I've got it, yes!"

"Very well, then, duplicate your notes, Weasley, and send a copy to the _Daily Prophet_ at once. If we send a fast owl we should make the morning edition!"

Percy slammed enthusiastically out of the room.

Fudge turned back to Dumbledore. "You will now be escorted back to the Ministry, where you will be formally charged, then sent back to Azkaban to await trial!"

"Ah," said Dumbledore gently, "yes. Yes, I thought we might hit that little snag."

"Snag?" Fudge demanded. "I see no snag, Dumbledore!"

"Well, I'm afraid I do."

"Oh, really?"

"Well – it's just that you seem to be labouring under the delusion that I am going to – what is the phrase? – _come quietly_. I am afraid that I am not going to come quietly at all, Cornelius. I have absolutely no intention of being sent to Azkaban. I could break out, of course – but that would be a waste of time, and frankly, I can think of a whole host of things I would rather be doing."

Kirk resisted the urge to chuckle appreciatively. One of the Aurors casually began trying to get his wand from his pocket.

"Don't be silly, Dawlish," Dumbledore said. "I'm sure you are an excellent Auror – I seem to remember you achieved 'Outstanding' in all your NEWTs – but if you attempt to – er – _bring me in_ by force, I will have to hurt you."

Dawlish blinked.

"So," Fudge sneered, "you intend to take on Dawlish, Shacklebolt, Dolores and myself single-handed, do you, Dumbledore?"

"Merlin's beard, no. Not unless you are foolish enough to force me to."

"He will not be single-handed!" McGonagall declared.

"Oh yes he will, Minerva," Dumbledore contradicted. "Hogwarts needs you!"

"Enough of this rubbish!" Fudge shouted. "Dawlish! Shacklebolt! _Take him_!"

With a single streak of silver, the room was plunged into total pandemonium. Reacting on instinct, Kirk pulled both himself and Harry to the floor, dust blurring his vision.

After several crashes and groans, silence descended upon the room once more.

"Are you alright?" Dumbledore asked.

"Yes," everyone replied at once.

Dumbledore's desk lay overturned, objects strewn across the floor. Everyone who worked for the Ministry lay side by side, unmoving, while Fawkes circled the room in the air, singing.

"Unfortunately, I had to hex Kingsley too, or it would have looked suspicious. He was remarkably quick on the uptake, modifying Miss Edgecombe's memory like that while everyone was looking the other way – thank him for me, won't you, Minerva?"

"He doesn't work for Fudge?" Kirk asked in surprise.

"Oh dear me, no, not really, he's a member of the Order. Now, they will all awake very soon," Dumbledore explained, "and it will be best if they did not know that we had time to communicate – you must act as though no time has passed, as though they were merely knocked to the ground, they will not remember-"

"Where will you go, Dumbledore?" McGonagall asked quietly. "Grimmauld Place?"

"Oh no, I am not leaving to go into hiding. Fudge will soon wish he'd never dislodged me from Hogwarts, I promise you."

He turned to look at Kirk and Harry, addressing Harry first. "Listen to me, Harry. You must study Occlumency as hard as you can, do you understand me? You might not be able to see Spock, so do everything Professor Snape tells you, and practice it particularly every night before sleeping so that you close your mind to bad dreams – you will understand soon enough, but you must promise me-"

Dawlish stirred and groaned.

"-remember – close your mind. James," he said, turning to Kirk, "I believe that the Minister shall attempt to remove you, Leonard and Spock from Hogwarts grounds-"

Fawkes swooped towards Dumbledore and waited patiently.

"-you must not fight it. Again, you will understand soon."

He grasped the phoenix's long golden tail and disappeared in a flash of fire.

"Where is he?" Fudge yelled, bouncing to his feet. "_Where is he?_"

"I don't know!" Kingsley shouted, glancing around wildly.

"Well, he can't have Disapparated," Umbridge cried frantically, "you can't do it from inside this school-"

"The stairs!" Dawlish yelled. Everyone but Fudge clattered out of sight.

"Well, Minerva," Fudge growled, "I think this is the end of your friend Dumbledore."

"You think so, do you?"

Fudge steadfastedly refused to acknowledge the rude hand gestures originating from the portraits. "You'd better get those three out of the office and back to their dormitories."

As McGonagall escorted them from the room, Kirk couldn't help but wonder exactly what Fudge would have in store for them.


	35. Arrests

**35. Arrests.**

"We have to go down there," Kirk muttered. "We can't avoid her."

"Yes we can, and we damn well will!"

"Leonard, that is hardly a practical-"

"It's the only thing we can do unless we want to fall into the clutches of that evil _marshmallow_-"

"I agree with your character assessment, colloquial thought it may be, however, we were ordered to submit to her wishes."

"Spock's right," Kirk said forcefully. "Dumbledore told us not to fight her-"

"Then Dumbledore," McCoy interrupted, "has lost it!"

"He _knows_ what he's doing, Bones, and the fact we've stayed here so long proves it! There hasn't been one attack on us since he opened his doors-"

"But he's not here!"

"No," Kirk replied, "he isn't, but he sacrificed himself to keep everyone else safe. We'd be doing him an injustice if we disobeyed him now."

"We must examine the situation logically," Spock added. "Argument with Professor Umbridge is futile."

"Exactly. She's also stronger than us," Kirk told McCoy. "If we argued, she'd just subdue us with magic."

"We don't have to argue openly!" McCoy protested. "We could just sneak out the castle before she notices-"

"There are numerous wards," Spock pointed out. "No doubt they have been modified to detect escape."

"A secret exit then," McCoy said desperately. "Barely anyone knows about the Room of Requirement – maybe there are other secrets we could use to our advantage."

"Assuming we even _knew_ where to go for that," Kirk demanded, "what would we do next? We'd be without help or contact, we can't use magic – we'd be sitting ducks!"

"Fine," McCoy spat, giving in.

"It is logical," Spock assured him. "Professor Dumbledore has ensured that we take the safest option."

"Right," said Kirk, "now that's settled, let's get down to breakfast. It's all we can really do…"

McCoy snorted, shutting the door behind him and starting down the corridor towards the Great Hall. "I still think it's suicide."

"She's not exactly going to torture us, Bones."

"How do you know?" McCoy demanded, loudly enough to make a small man in a nearby painting jump.

"Because there'd be no logic to it."

"Have you completely missed the past few months? That woman is _deranged_. If she thinks torture or something equally as bad will help her precious Fudge, she'll do it!"

"We just have to hope she won't," Kirk replied grimly.

"And," McCoy added, turning to Spock, "I don't know if you've noticed, but she hates you."

"A decidedly insightful observation, Leonard."

"Damn it Spock," McCoy snarled, "now is not the time to be sarcastic!"

"Vulcans do not-"

"- do sarcasm," McCoy finished in exasperation, "so you told me."

"Bones, arguing isn't going to help us right now either."

McCoy suddenly deflated, running his hands through his hair. "I know. We need to help each other."

"That's the spirit!" A portrait said enthusiastically.

"Shut up," McCoy snapped.

"Well," the man looked affronted, "how _rude_…"

"The amount of planet-side missions that have gone wrong," McCoy explained, "and the amount of times one or both of you comes back…" he stopped himself. "Sometimes," he said instead, "I'm surprised you manage to come back."

"_Bones_..." Kirk said softly, "we'll do our best to stay out of trouble."

"Good, because I don't know how much magical damage I'd be able to fix without any equipment."

"We have faith in your abilities, Leonard," Spock said simply.

"That's a first," McCoy said wryly. "Things must really be getting bad if you're complimenting me, hobgoblin."

"The same sentiment could be applied to your utilisation of the term 'hobgoblin'."

"God," McCoy muttered suddenly, "I'm really gonna miss this castle."

"When we got here, you were trying to kill it."

"I know, Jim, but it grows on you."

Kirk suddenly stopped. "There's no one in the corridors."

"Indeed," Spock replied grimly.

"Well?" McCoy demanded, with the sinking feeling of someone who has guessed what was happening, but didn't want to believe it. "Where are they?"

Kirk squared his shoulders and walked forwards, pushing open the doors to the Great Hall, which was packed despite the early hour. Several Aurors were waiting for them, their wands in their hands already.

"Watching the show," Kirk replied. "Umbridge must have called them here."

"One last victory for the giant pink blancmange," McCoy muttered as Umbridge wobbled towards them.

"Well," Umbridge said, surveying them haughtily, the silence of the hall serving as a heavy backdrop to her words as everyone listened in. "I have to say I have been waiting for this opportunity."

"Then aren't you a lucky woman," McCoy snarled.

"Luck has very little to do with it, Mr McCoy, this moment has been inevitable for a long time."

Behind Umbridge, the Gryffindor table could be seen staring at them with open curiosity and concern, the food relatively untouched before them as they soaked in the scene. Even Ron wasn't yet shovelling his food with his usual gusto. At the staff table, the professors sat in silence, observing the woman before them with quiet hatred, but none of them coming to their aide.

"Now," Umbridge simpered, "will you confess here, before the press," she gestured to some people which, they noticed with a jolt, where standing relatively out of sight for the moment, snapping unobtrusive photographs, "or at the Ministry?"

"I don't suppose we have a choice?" Kirk asked, his voice as light as he could make it.

"You will confess," Umbridge replied simply.

"I seem to be missing something here," McCoy said angrily, taking a step towards Umbridge. "We haven't done anything wrong."

"You claim to have _appeared_ here after the disappearance of You-Know-Who," Umbridge replied blithely.

"I _know_ that!" McCoy snapped.

"Then you understand the charges against you, do you not?"

"_What charges?_" McCoy demanded, having had enough. "We didn't _choose_ to end up here – we haven't done anything!"

"Bones-"

"Don't you 'Bones' me!" McCoy snapped, rounding on Kirk. "This insane fruitcake has been wrecking havoc with the school system for months, blinding the public to Voldemort – it's _just_ a name," he added when Umbridge quivered, "and generally annoying everyone into early graves! _Someone_ needs to get her to see a psychiatrist before she drives even _Snape_ nuts!"

"Bones, that's enough-"

McCoy whirled back to face Umbridge. "These students will rebel against you," he stated, "it's been waiting to happen, and when it does, I wish I was there to watch."

Umbridge tittered even as the Aurors stiffened and gripped their wands harder. The press was now taking so many photographs it looked almost as though lightning had been trapped in the room. "I have full control over the students."

"You have full control over nothing, and _that_," McCoy concluded with a flourish, "will ruin you."

"I think," Umbridge said, the sweetness barely covering a more dangerous tone, "that you have overstepped your bounds, McCoy. As a Ministry official, I have more experience than-"

"Yes," McCoy said sarcastically, "because things are _definitely_ under control here, aren't they?"

"Leonard-"

"You're only up to your _eyeballs_ in Ministry Decrees," McCoy continued. "Any real and competent person in your position wouldn't need those decrees – they'd actually be able to keep a class under control without resorting to cutting open the students!"

There was a clatter as several forks were dropped. Over at the staff table, McGonagall was glaring mutinously at Umbridge, but did not dare to intervene.

Umbridge drew herself up officiously. "The Minister has authorised-"

"What is essentially one step away from child abuse!" McCoy finished. "And let me tell you something," he continued, rant in full flow now, "as a doctor, I've seen the result of what people like you do and the psychological impact you have on people-"

"_Bones_!"

"- I've seen the disasters that it can bring on and I know how difficult those are to fix! What you're doing here is creating one hell of a problem for yourself-"

"Leonard."

"- that will get you thrown out of office, and like every other idiot who ever used the same methods, you _don't even realise_ what you're doing!"

"_Leonard!"_

McCoy was vaguely aware of Spock glaring at him, the Vulcan facade slipping in his desperation to get the doctor to stop the rant, but McCoy's main focus was on the short train-wreck of a teacher before him.

"Not everyone can bounce back," McCoy hissed, unaware of the camera flashes as he took another step forwards, "not everyone can let it go, and not everyone will. Sometime in the future you'll have an even bigger problem on your hands, and a country in an even bigger state of unrest, that not even-"

McCoy cut off abruptly and collapsed to the floor, Spock's hand still clamped around his neck. "I apologise, Leonard," he said softly as the man lost consciousness, glaring at the Vulcan responsible.

Kirk sighed. "There goes our dignified exit."

Umbridge stood for a brief moment, completely flabbergasted into inaction, before the dull murmur of voices around the hall spurred her on. "Take them to the Ministry," she ordered. "You know, after Mr McCoy's display, which section to put them in."

"Yes ma'am," one of the Aurors replied, raising his wand at Kirk and jerking his head, indicating that he should walk into the Entrance Hall.

"Leave him," Umbridge added when an Auror moved to levitate McCoy's unconscious body. "The comfort of opponents to the Ministry is not your responsibility."

The Auror looked slightly taken aback, but knew better than to argue, stepping back into place with a swift nod of his head.

Spock bent down wordlessly and picked up the limp body of the Doctor, his face now impassive once more as he turned his back on the Great Hall without another glance. He did not notice the brief look of rage that crossed Malfoy's face.

"I do not require assistance," Spock murmured softly when Kirk moved to help.

After a moment of deliberation, Kirk gave in and re-assumed his position, walking calmly towards the great doors of the castle. Before the doors closed to the Great Hall, they heard the beginnings of frantic discussion among the student body.

Suddenly they were in silence and walking through the grounds, Aurors surrounding them, the expressions of all involved grim. The press hurried along beside them, in front of them, behind – desperate to take photographs of this event, they swarmed around the small group like flies attracted to rotting food. Not one of them appeared to show an ounce of pity.

"Where are you taking us?" Kirk asked, trying to keep his voice calm and neutral. _Don't give them any reason to attack._

"Prisoners are not permitted to talk," the Auror replied calmly.

"Then how are you supposed to interrogate us?" Kirk challenged.

"Answers will be given upon arrival at the Ministry," the Auror replied neutrally.

"...Oh...good," Kirk muttered, slightly annoyed.

Umbridge tittered at him. "You must learn to obey the rules, Mr Kirk."

Kirk resisted the very real urge to throttle her and instead focused on his surroundings, knowing that he would very likely never see them again. Despite his expectations and attempts to not become too attached to this universe, he found himself suddenly missing the people inside the castle, feeling deep concern for them as he realised that they would have no defence from Umbridge, no sympathetic adults to talk to.

They would not, without a doubt, be able to even travel into Hogsmeade without over-the-top supervision on the Ministry's part, now that its fears concerning Dumbledore's so-called 'army' had been confirmed. He briefly wondered whether or not Harry would try to keep the meetings going regardless, but realised as soon as he had allowed himself to consider the thought that it was impossible. With them gone, the Room of Requirement was now empty and derelict; Umbridge could easily gain access and use it herself, forcing the students to abandon the attempt.

He shuddered to think what misguided abominations she would use that room for. A secret detention area, he supposed, where she could inflict more than cut hands.

Once more, he glared at the self satisfied woman, wondering how anyone like her could have received such a high position within the Ministry. In all of his experience with politics, he had always known of something in the government being incapable, but never to this extent. Never had he seen someone willingly inflict harm upon others in a _school_ of all places, just to keep their leader in power. He had seen misconduct, yes, but it had generally been practiced without facade, the person responsible doing nothing to hide the fact that they knew what they were doing was wrong.

Umbridge, on the other hand, knew exactly what she was doing but refused to admit it, even to herself. She rationalised and argued, the words grossly illogical to the point that it would, he reflected in slight amusement, give the entire race of Vulcan a headache. Then again, with her attitude added onto it, he supposed that the physical results of having to put up with her would probably be quite a lot worse for a race so proudly logical...

They wouldn't fall for the same trap, he decided. He knew Spock would go down without a fight, just as Dumbledore suggested, and Kirk would do the same.

He just wished that Bones had been as rational. Now, the Ministry had an even bigger reason to imprison them, to spin their words to create a story which would be flawless even to those who opposed the regime, and they would have no legal chance of escape. They had officially defied the government in the eyes of the public, and it would soon be in print.

"I shall of course accompany you to the office," Umbridge simpered. "Cornelius would no doubt require a report on the arrest."

"We're going to the Ministry?" Kirk asked before he could stop himself.

Umbridge ignored him, instead waiting for the gates to be opened for her before striding imperiously through them, seeming not to notice that the effect of her walk was reduced by the gate looming over her as it did for no one else.

The head Auror turned around and motioned for his colleagues to grab hold of the prisoners.

"Wait a minute," Kirk protested, shrugging the shoulders off him, "what's going on?"

"We're apparating," the head Auror replied. "Since you can't apparate, we have to help you."

Kirk slowly complied, allowing slightly rough hands to hold onto his arm as he was pushed forwards a step, the hand that pushed him remaining on him even when he complied. His lungs suddenly began to compress, his breathing restricted to short gasps that, had he been able to see, would have left spots in front of his eyes, before it was cut off completely. The ground disappeared from beneath his feet and he found himself floating, crushed in a blackness which only he could see.

Mentally floundering, he tried to lift his arm to push the weight off his chest, only to find that it was pinned to his side, feeling leaden. He couldn't move, he couldn't breathe, he couldn't think, and he was going to die, right here, with an Auror clinging to his arm. He suddenly felt the urge to tell McCoy that he was right – he _was_ going to leave the Doctor with a difficult situation to explain to Command when he died...

Just as he was about to give up hope of ever being able to breathe again, he felt his lungs gasping reflexively, the sound hitching in his throat as his knees jolted into a now very much present floor. He felt rough hands pulling him up into a standing position, and he did nothing to resist, the dizziness from the ordeal doing nothing to help the process of reorientation. He could only hope that Spock had some idea where they were, though he doubted it.

Judging by what he had just felt, they had apparated to their destination; a bustling office with robed Aurors scurrying from one place to another, expressions harried. The room was almost luxurious despite the fact that it had to be a police station; marble fountains lining the floor at regular intervals. He briefly wondered, as Umbridge led them forwards, whether the taxpayers knew where exactly their money was going.

Then he was brought to a stop and made to stand to attention, the rough and uncaring hands forcing him into the position. Before him stood a burly looking man, obviously bored out of his mind, holding out his wand. Trying to remain calm, he felt a small wave of magic, barely detectable, sweep over him, moving steadily up and down, and he was reminded of old films he had watched on Earth, where security at the airport waved what looked like electronic sticks up and down the passengers...

The man motioned for him to come forwards and stand in front of a tray, his pockets were forcibly emptied, and he saw the contents being filed away.

"I'll take them from here," the bored looking guard said. With a nod, the Aurors left, never glancing back. He noticed that Umbridge was still standing outside the office where, no doubt, Fudge currently sat.

He was lead forwards, down a slight slope. The air became slightly colder here, and he surmised that they were underground, where the heat was unable to reach.

Then they stopped.

All air was sucked out of the room and he was lifted off the ground before he even realised what was happening. Dearly wishing he wasn't apparating again, he landed forcefully on the ground and hurriedly sucked air into his abused lungs.

How witches and wizards could do this on a regular basis was beyond him.

He was hauled to his feet once more and the guard led them down a long, dimly lit corridor, the air feeling slightly damp. His feet slipped slightly as he stepped in a small puddle of rainwater, and he glanced up. The roof was leaking slightly.

His foot slammed into contact with a step and he looked back down, seeing that they had come to a staircase without having realised it. It seemed to stretch high into the sky, the dim lighting doing nothing to help the illusion.

Sighing, he forced himself to climb the long and winding stair case to what had to be the top floor of the building, slipping and sliding on the uneven steps in the dark.

He braced himself for the worst, for the guard to laugh and lock them in a dark and freezing cell, with no contact for weeks, without even a board of a mattress to sleep on. He prepared for them to reach a rotting carcass of a door, falling off its hinges but reinforced by magical wards. But what he did see wasn't what he had expected.

They had come to a door, strong and sturdy looking – unfortunately – but otherwise in better condition than the roof. It was only then that he realised that there was no longer any water under his feet; obviously, the corridors had been in a state of disrepair. Or maybe it was some sort of cruel joke, tormenting prisoners with worries of Azkaban like conditions. Before he could finish the thought, they were shoved in.

The door slammed behind them.

"Great," he swore to himself, glaring at the door.

"Jim," Spock admonished.

Kirk kicked the door. "I thought it was appropriate. How's Bones?"

Spock gestured behind him, where he had just laid McCoy on one of the beds which, reassuringly enough appeared to have decent mattresses. "He remains unconscious."

"I didn't know your Nerve Pinch lasted that long."

"It does."

"Is he hurt?" He asked anxiously.

To his immense relief Spock shook his head. "Negative."

"Good," Kirk replied quietly, giving McCoy one last glance before turning away.

Out of instinct, Kirk began to make a circuit of the room, his fingers probing every corner, every tiny crevice that he could find. "So," he asked, almost conversationally, "we'll be here for a while."

Spock's eyebrow twitched, but did not raise – a testament to how dire the situation was. "Indeed," he said simply.

He sighed, running his hand across the slightly jagged surface of the wall before glancing up at the only window, the slightly grimy pane of glass not large enough to climb through. "Do you think we could reach that?"

Spock appeared to calculate for a moment before replying. "Affirmative." The Vulcan reached out his hands and placed them low to the ground.

"Spock," Kirk said, "I can go on the bottom..." He blushed and Spock raised his eyebrows. "I'll never say that again."

"Indeed. However, I must remind you that my physical strength allows me to support weight much more easily. It would be logical for me to lift you towards the window."

"Alright," Kirk replied, placing his foot on Spock's hands and balancing on it.

To his surprise, Spock lifted Kirk off the ground without waiting for Kirk to place his other foot on his hand, effortlessly bringing him over to the window in question, at a height perfect for being able to look out the glass.

"Show off," Kirk muttered, grinning.

Leaning forwards, he rubbed his sleeve briefly against the window pane, noticing as he did so that he created a slight smear on the glass. "When do you think Bones will wake up?" He asked quietly, glancing over at his still unconscious friend.

"Momentarily."

"Great," Kirk scowled.

"Jim?"

"I have no way of ranting at him until he wakes up," Kirk explained.

There was a brief beat of silence, during which Kirk surveyed the view from their window. "We're high up," he said finally, dropping back down to the floor. "I don't recognise the area, though. It's in the country somewhere."

"That is convenient," Spock replied grimly.

There was a small groan and two heads whipped around instantly, focusing on the brown haired man.

"He's coming around," Kirk whispered, before sitting gently beside his friend and touching his shoulder lightly.

"Unnngggh," McCoy groaned, struggling to sit upright and wincing, allowing Kirk to steady him.

"Bones?"

"I hear ya, Jim," McCoy drawled, wincing again. "Damn, I have a hell of a headache..."

"That is to be expected," Spock said quietly.

McCoy eyed him warily. "Not to mention my neck feels like it's been ripped off my shoulder and wrapped in a knot before being bolted back on. Remind me never to get within arms' reach of you again, Spock."

"The Nerve Pinch isn't that bad," Kirk replied.

McCoy snorted. "I wish I'd never woken up. Spock, you're a menace to everyone around you, you know that?"

"Leonard," the Vulcan said quietly, "I apologise for-"

"For what?" McCoy snapped. "For interrupting me mid-rant? That is _never_ a good idea, I tell you now, especially when it was against Umbridge!"

"It was necessary."

"Like hell it was!" McCoy exploded.

"Bones," Kirk interrupted the argument softly, "he's right. Thanks to you, the Ministry now have a reason to keep us here."

"What?"

"You insulted one of their highest ranking workers," Kirk said, with a mixture of annoyance and amusement. "They can blow that out of proportion to exist in their favour, then print it in the newspapers. Even those against the Ministry will be in agreement that we're meant to be here. Wherever here is," he added.

McCoy's mouth formed a small 'o'. "Ah."

"'Ah' is right," Kirk muttered.

"Jim, I'm sorry – I wasn't-"

"It's alright, Bones," Kirk sighed after a warning glance from Spock. "I've done the same thing. Just never with a wand pointed in my face," Kirk snorted.

McCoy sighed. "It's still my fault we're here."

"Leonard," Spock said, "this was none of your doing. Our arrival here was inevitable."

"Don't argue with him Bones," Kirk added when McCoy opened his mouth to do just that. "You know you'll never win."

McCoy rolled his eyes. "Great. So what do we do now?"

"Now?" Kirk repeated. "Now, we wait."

oOo

Scott ran his hands through his hair in what was becoming a newly formed habit. As he had suspected when he had originally started interrogating his prisoners, he had received little or no answers regarding their origins. The only information he had was almost useless; the leader believed he was a future world leader, they were all obsessed with blood purity and were convinced, despite all the evidence otherwise, that magic existed. And none of them liked him. At all.

Of course, that went without saying – he did put them in there, after all, but he had never expected something approaching this level of disdain. Loathing, even. From the expressions they assumed when he dealt with them, they considered themselves to be superior to him, and insisted upon calling him "Muggle", despite the fact that he repeatedly gave them his name. The fact that he had no idea what "Muggle" meant only seemed to amuse them further, for some reason that he could not hope to fathom. The thought that he didn't understand everything annoyed him, and he had worked tirelessly with the rest of the crew to find out what exactly was happening.

All in all, stress levels were high, and had been for quite some time. When Shore Leave had finally rolled around, Scott had placed the crew on a well ordered rotation shift, so that everyone had a chance to rest but the search for the missing officers was not abandoned. Officially, the ship was AWOL, with the full consent of the crew. He had offered everyone the chance to leave by shuttle craft before he had begun ignoring Star Fleet transmissions.

Star Fleet had tried to order them to return to base in order to collect replacements – as if the missing people were simply broken machinery which was discarded when it was no longer of use. The crew, still feeling intense loyalty to their new captain, had flat out refused and, in an open act of rebellion, joined Mr Scott. They had then proceeded to continue to search the area, avoiding any other Star Fleet vessels when they passed and then returning when there was no longer any sign of them. This game of cat and mouse had been going on for some time, and Scott was worried.

The search for the officers was a dead end, as it had been when it had started. For those first few weeks, they had maintained hope, had even dared to tempt themselves into thinking that the officers would be back the next day, if all went to plan. But it never did, and as weeks turned into months, practically all hope had vanished, to be replaced with resignation.

They had watched the video records of the disappearance over and over again, yet the only conclusion they could draw was that this was either alien machinery they had no hope of combating or, Scott shuddered to even admit this inside his own head, magic. Suffice it to say that everyone was rapidly becoming frustrated with their lack of results, and Scott was not sure how much longer they could continued before he too, finally faced a rebellion.

In addition to this, the dreams had continued to plague him, some even managing to infiltrate his waking mind to the point where he was no longer certain if he was asleep or awake. Dark circles, a testament to his now present reluctance to sleep, now lay under his eyes, a permanent fixture of the past few months that the crew could not ignore. He felt the Bridge crew's concerned stares on him whenever he was with them, but he ignored it, having had much time to get used to it over the duration of their search. He had given up hope on the dreams ever stopping, and instead a sneaking suspicion entered his mind, frightening him to his very core.

"Mr Scott." Uhura's voice rang across the intercom, jerking Scott out of his morose thoughts.

Running his hand through his hair again, this time without realising it, he jabbed at a switch and wearily regarded the screen before him, where Uhura's tired but beautiful face swam into focus. "Aye lass?"

"We've detected a strange energy signature, sir," she reported, businesslike despite her evident exhaustion. "It's almost as though we're being watched by something."

_So_, he mused, _it's finally happening_. Outwardly, he nodded. "I'm on my way, Uhura."

Waiting to see her nod of understanding, he turned off the intercom and levered himself out of his chair, shuffling slowly to the door of his quarters. Once outside in the crowded corridor and the bright glare of the busy ship, he straightened his posture with an effort and walked towards the turbolift.

He was so tired, but the visions refused to give him any respite, to even leave him alone long enough to catch up on his sleep. He could barely remember what sleeping properly felt like. Even when he had desperately resorted to going to sickbay for medication, the visions had been there.

Always in chronological order, as though something was showing him his life from one point onwards.

Shaking himself from that thought, he stepped out of the now stationary lift, sitting down gratefully in the command chair, despite the impulse to get out of it, to let it be until the rightful captain could sit in it once again.

"Report," he ordered quietly, remembering a time when Kirk had uttered that word.

"Zere eez an energy seegnal, sair," Chekov reported. His accent had grown thicker the harder the Ensign worked, but Scott had been unable to persuade him to take Shore leave along with the others.

"Have ye managed tae pin point it?"

"No sir." This time it was Sulu who replied. He looked more rested than the man sitting next to him, but not by much. His face too was lined by stress.

Scott sighed. "Put it on-screen."

The steadily drifting stars were replaced with a mechanical spread, and for once Scott was grateful of the work. Here was something he could understand, something he could control. Here, he was in his element and wasn't forced to verbal joust with arrogant prisoners. He wasn't forced to relive memories.

Instead, he frowned at the image before him, noting the fact that it looked familiar. "Almost like a cloakin' device," he said quietly.

"We thought that too, sir," Sulu replied, "but we weren't sure. It looks different."

Scott nodded. "Aye, it does, lad."

"A new model?" Chekov asked curiously, turning to face the scotsman.

Again, he nodded. "It could be." He continued to stare at the image. "Put the ship on yellow alert," he said finally.

There were a few beats of silence as the implications of this sank in.

"Aye sir," Sulu said finally.

Scott sat back, praying that his suspicions were not true, but with no real enthusiasm behind the internal words.


	36. The Whole Truth

**36. The Whole Truth.**

"Alright. Tell me the truth this time."

"I told you the truth," McCoy snapped, "and that's all there is to it!"

They had spent an uncomfortable but bearable night in the cell after Kirk had performed his usual potential jail break routine. He'd found no possible escape route. Even if he had, Kirk had assured them, they would not have used it unless absolutely necessary – Dumbledore had warned them not to fight. They were much safer here, even if they were locked away and treated like potential anarchists. At least here, there weren't any possible Death Eaters waiting to kidnap them – or so they hoped. With all the methods of magical concealment, you never could be sure.

The night had passed unbearably slowly, with all three officers remaining awake. Kirk had sat there silently on his bed, opposite McCoy, going through their options over and over again. Not for the first time, he'd wondered aloud what Umbridge planned to do with Hogwarts, whether the students were safe. Yet McCoy also knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that his captain and friend was worried despite his attempts to hide it. He was worried, McCoy knew, about the Enterprise and its crew. They had known, since Dumbledore had explained the magical nature of their arrival, that the Enterprise had no hope of finding them, had no hope of making a temporary universe rift.

Yet Scott didn't know that, had no way of knowing, and there was no doubt that he wouldn't give up. Scott was an intensely loyal and determined man. He was committed to keeping both the ship and the crew safe, even at great personal risk to himself. He would not give up easily, and McCoy could see that it was this which plagued the mind of one Jim Kirk.

Kirk, forever concerned with the lives of others, did not want Scott to jeopardise his career for a lost cause. He knew that if – when, McCoy mentally corrected – they returned home, there would be an enquiry, and Kirk did not want Scott to be too involved. The Scotsman was an engineering genius; he did not need another repeat of Delta Vega, where he was abandoned at some far away outpost, left with nothing to do but tinker and reflect upon the injustice. He deserved more than that. Scott deserved his reputation as the best Chief Engineer of the Fleet, and that should not be taken away from him. They all knew that.

Spock, on the other hand, had remained quiet throughout the night, only speaking when asked a direct question. His eyes had been slightly glazed, his focus inwards, body unnaturally still, and McCoy had been worried.

Finally unable to stand it anymore, he had made his way over to the Vulcan, concerned that he was suffering from the slightly lower than normal temperature, and put one hand on the Vulcan's forehead. It had been its usual temperature and McCoy had, with a confused frown, picked up Spock's wrist, feeling for the pulse.

It was normal.

"Hmm," McCoy had murmured, placing the wrist onto Spock's lap, only to find two suddenly lucid eyes staring at him. "Spock?"

"Leonard."

McCoy had fixed a half glare. "I was checking to see if you were suffering from an illness and, being your usual obnoxiously stubborn self, refusing to tell me."

"I am perfectly healthy."

"Well," McCoy had shot back, "I know _now_."

"Then your query has been satisfied." The eyes had begun to un-focus again.

"Spock," Kirk had called from across the cell, coming to sit on the bed, next to his First Officer, "what are you doing?"

"I am attempting to meditate."

"Oh."

"Aren't you supposed to cross your legs and hum for that?" McCoy asked.

"That is a rather peculiar misconception, Leonard."

"Well then," McCoy had drawled, "what _are_ you supposed to do?"

"Think."

"Think?"

"Yes, Leonard," Spock replied, a small sigh escaping from between his lips.

"You think?" McCoy repeated. "That's it? You don't chant?"

"Chanting would be counter-productive."

"You don't do any yoga?"

"Negative."

"You don't even focus your inner energy, attempt to join it with the rest of the universe, and float to the ceiling?"

Spock had simply stared at him.

"I made that up," McCoy admitted.

"So what are you thinking about?" Kirk asked.

"The beginning of a mental link between Mr Potter and I. I am attempting to utilise it to ascertain his current emotions."

"You want to find out if he's safe," Kirk deduced.

"Affirmative. However, my attempts are having limited success."

"Why's that?" Kirk asked.

"There are two factors. Firstly, the link is not sufficiently tangible."

"Isn't there a way of strengthening it?"

"I am currently endeavouring to do so, Leonard."

"And how's that going?"

"There has been marginal progress."

"And what's the second factor?" Kirk asked.

"My attention is constantly being diverted."

"Ah," Kirk chuckled. "We'll let you get back to it then, Spock." And with a pat on the Vulcan's shoulder, the captain had moved to another bed, taking McCoy with him, to discuss yet more theories on what Umbridge was planning.

That had been several hours ago, and Spock had continued to make small but encouraging steps of progress. Soon, they would hopefully have a way of communicating, even if it was non-verbal, with Hogwarts.

The morning had slowly dawned, bringing with it a slightly stale but very welcome meal, the bread and fruit doing wonders to quell the hunger which had arisen since their arrival.

After they had eaten, McCoy had been taken out of the cell to what seemed like an interrogation room, though not in the traditional sense. There might have been no one way mirror on the wall, but McCoy still had the impression that he was being watched, the eyes not visible.

On the solitary wooden table before him sat a pile of parchment, most of them devoid of lettering and a testament to the expected length of the interrogation. The few that had been written on were in a small pile at the opposite end of the table. In the middle of the surface, a hovering quill wrote down the conversation, only stopping when it reached the end of the paper, flying impatiently before the paper was turned over or replaced.

Behind the table, dressed in handsome robes, were two wizards. On their chests was a large badge each, detailing their guard number and status within the Ministry. The only indication he had of their identity was a surname, printed in official letters on each badge.

Puddlemarsh, the more experienced of the two, sat in front of McCoy and on the left. His white hair contrasted with his dark robes, highlighting his age and experience. The lines on his face spoke of many years of hard work, the stress of working for a government constantly plagued by rumours of dark wizards. McCoy had no doubt that he'd interviewed more Death Eaters and suspected supporters than he cared to count.

The wizard on the right, on the other hand, was young and practically brimming with enthusiasm. Sporting the inconspicuous name of Smith, he seemed determined to prove himself, to rise above anonymity. He dominated the investigation, in his eagerness repeating questions several times.

Yet McCoy got the distinct impression that Puddlemarsh didn't mind. In fact, he seemed to relish the opportunity to sit back and study McCoy, eying him for signs of deceit.

"Tell me the truth," Smith repeated.

McCoy rolled his eyes. "Good God boy, do you have the memory of a goldfish? Perhaps you can't remember the answer I gave you as much as five seconds ago?"

"Insolence will get you nowhere, Leonard."

"It's McCoy to you," McCoy snapped, for what felt like the hundredth time.

Smith ignored him. "Leonard, we both know what's going to happen if you don't confess." He leaned forwards. "I want to help you, Leonard."

McCoy snorted. "Really?"

Smith maintained eye contact. "Yes. Leonard, I know there is no one in your life who-"

"Are you interrogating me or asking me out?" McCoy scoffed.

Smith wasn't fazed. "I know," he repeated, "that no one you know will believe the truth, but it's alright." He nodded once. "I will."

"You will, will you?"

"Yes."

McCoy couldn't resist. "I'm an alien," he said simply, keeping eye contact.

Smith stared at him, gulped, and nodded. "That was unexpected."

McCoy smirked and lounged back in his chair. "Good."

This time, it was Puddlemarsh who spoke. "Don't play games with us, Mr McCoy. These are serious charges."

McCoy rolled his eyes again. "I just told you the truth. I come from a different universe. Therefore, you would consider me an alien although," he smirked, "I'm human."

"Mr McCoy," Puddlemarsh warned, "that is enough. Now tell us where you're _really_ from."

"Georgia."

Smith raised his eyebrows. "Georgia? Come rather a long way, haven't you?"

"You have _no idea_..."

"Mode of transport?" Smith asked.

"I don't know. Magic, I suppose."

"Hippogriff airport, Portkey station, Apparition..." Smith listed. "Do any of those sound familiar?"

"...Hippogriff station?"

"Airport," Smith corrected. "Though admittedly there are only two left in the world. They're illegal here in England."

"Then why," McCoy snapped, "did you mention it?"

"Standard procedure, Leonard. Let's continue." He quickly scanned his notes. "We have no record of you."

"That doesn't surprise me."

"Do you have any idea why this might be the case?"

"I come from a different universe."

"Mr McCoy," Puddlemarsh snapped, "answer the question."

McCoy sighed. "Because I haven't been arrested before. Because I don't work at the Ministry."

The quill jotted that down. McCoy resisted the urge to snap it.

"I told you that things would be easier on you if you co-operated," Smith smiled. "Now, why did you come to England?"

"I had no choice."

"You were ordered here by a superior?"

"No," McCoy said clearly. "I've told you."

"I see."

The quill scribbled.

"Who do you work for, Leonard?"

"You'd never believe me."

"Leonard-"

"Yes, I know," McCoy interrupted before the man could launch into his speech. "Alright, but don't say I didn't warn you. I work for the United Federation of Planets."

Smith's eyebrows escalated.

"Star Fleet," McCoy added.

"Who do you _really _work for, Leonard?"

"That _is_ who I really work for."

"The answer isn't good enough!" Puddlemarsh snapped. "Fantasy companies aren't listed, surprisingly."

"Alright," McCoy muttered. "I'm unemployed."

"Is that why you were opposing Madam Umbridge? Did you want her job?"

"No. I was opposing her because she was incompetent."

"You believe you could do better, McCoy?"

McCoy glared at Puddlemarsh. "Any idiot could."

The quill scribbled that down.

"Lucky we caught him before he could do any damage, right, Mr Puddlemarsh?"

"I'm not here to do damage!" McCoy snapped. "Believe it or not, I just want to get out of here."

"You're not going anywhere," Puddlemarsh sneered. "Especially not after your confession."

"_What confession_? I haven't given one!"

"Leonard." Smith was looking sympathetic now. "I understand how you feel-"

"Oh you do, do you?" McCoy spat.

"It can't be easy," Smith continued. "You're alone in here, you're being interrogated in a foreign country and your plans have been discovered – it's enough to put anyone down in the dumps."

McCoy blinked at him. "Exactly how long have you had this job?"

"Two months, but I don't-"

McCoy turned to Puddlemarsh. "And he hasn't been fired yet?"

"Mr Smith is an extremely competent employee," Puddlemarsh said, though not too enthusiastically. "He's already convicted two former Death Eaters."

"You people are nuts."

"Excuse me?" Smith asked, genuinely confused.

"There's something about this government," McCoy retorted, "where at least 2/5 of the employees have to be useless. Is that an official requirement?"

"Don't write that down," Smith ordered the quill.

"Isn't that tampering with evidence?"

"Leonard, I understand that you're under stress, but those comments were uncalled for."

"Of course I'm damn well stressed!" McCoy exploded. "I got dragged out of my universe, ditched here only to be arrested for being a public menace, when I don't even live here! This planet is crazy!"

"McCoy," the older wizard barked, "that's enough. I can have you psychiatrically evaluated if you don't-"

"And they'll find me perfectly sane."

"I beg to differ." Puddlemarsh narrowed his eyes, his calm demeanour almost gone. "If you don't stop ranting about other universes, I'll have you committed!"

"And wouldn't that be convenient?" McCoy bellowed, infuriated. "The only opposition to Umbridge just _happens_ to be insane!"

"Leonard-"

"Will you stop calling me that?" McCoy asked in exasperation. "The only people who say that to me are my friends and mother, and I'm proud to say you're neither!"

Smith actually looked slightly hurt.

"McCoy," Puddlemarsh tried again, "I'm not sure you understand the gravity of the situation. You've verbally abused a member of the Ministry, spread false rumours about the return of He Who Must Not Be Named, and are a known member of Dumbledore's Army. In addition to this, you continued to disrupt the peace with fanciful daydreams of alternate universes-"

"Fanciful?" McCoy repeated incredulously. "That universe is anything but a fanciful daydream. There are Klingons over there who would willingly rip you to shreds. A _whole planet_ – my _friend's_ planet – was destroyed by one insane Romulan!"

"I'm sure it was," Puddlemarsh replied, voice practically dripping with sarcasm. "But what I'm trying to tell you is that you could easily go to Azkaban for this – all the Ministry has to do is take your membership of the DA and tell the public you're trying to overthrow the government. You're bad behavioural conduct will only cement the ruling against you!"

"Don't tell me you're trying to help."

"I've seen too many people go in there for too long and never recover," the man replied, eyes haunted. "As it is, you're looking at a fairly short sentence, but if you continue to be difficult then you _will_ be classified as dangerous!"

He paused for effect. "That means you'll essentially receive the same treatment as former Death Eaters, if the Ministry thinks it's appropriate."

McCoy, for the first time since he'd entered the room, remained silent.

"Now," Puddlemarsh continued, "I don't like you, in fact I think that goes without saying, but that doesn't mean I won't try to help you." He stood up and motioned at the brick wall. Wordlessly, a guard entered the room through the wooden door which had just appeared. "I'll leave you to think about that for a while."

Taking his cue, McCoy stood, ignoring the wand pointed at him as he was led through the corridors and back into his cell, the door slamming shut behind him.

Kirk looked up as McCoy made his way to a bed, grumbling, and plonked himself on it. "How did it go, Bones?"

McCoy grunted.

"That bad?"

"I may have exploded..."

Kirk sighed. "Bones, I've told you before; yelling at them won't help."

"They tried to get me to confess to running against Umbridge for her position!"

"Given your performance yesterday," Kirk said grimly, "it's hardly surprising. We knew before we got here that they'd try to twist our words to their advantage."

"I know," McCoy muttered, "but I still didn't expect something that stupid."

"What did you say to them?"

"I reminded them that Umbridge was incompetent," McCoy admitted. "I _might_ have implied that an idiot could do a better job."

"Anything else?" Kirk asked wryly.

"I could have been slightly carried away about the existence of our universe."

"How did they react to that?"

"They want to get me committed."

Kirk snorted. "I'll remember to avoid talking about the Enterprise then," he joked.

"You do that."

"Well, now we know which angle they'll approach this from," Kirk said. "I'm sure we'll soon be known as the three crazies."

McCoy glanced at Spock, who had remained silent throughout the exchange and knew, from the glazed look in his eyes, that he was still trying to reach Harry.

"They also mentioned Azkaban," McCoy muttered.

"Did they say how long for?"

McCoy shook his head. "They said if we co-operate it'll be a shorter sentence. If we keep 'talking crazy' though, we'll be treated like Death Eaters."

"What?"

"They think we're promoting Voldemort's return because we support him."

Kirk sighed again. "If this government doesn't open its eyes, their country will be in trouble."

"You can say that again." McCoy paused thoughtfully. "I'm actually beginning to wonder why Dumbledore doesn't just run for the position of Minister of Magic."

"He probably doesn't want it."

"I can understand why," McCoy grimaced, "but it would get the country closer to being ready for war."

"As popular as Dumbledore is, I'm not sure the public would accept him as Minister. He might be a member of the Wizengamot, but he's still a headmaster, and most people see him as just that."

"He'd still be better than Fudge."

"So you've said," Kirk said wryly. "Many times. I'm beginning to think _you_ want to be Minister."

"What?" McCoy squawked.

Kirk grinned. "The amount of times I've listened to you rant about government policies, you'd think you were a politician."

McCoy's eyes narrowed. "Never say that again."

Kirk raised his hands in a placating gesture. "Of course." Despite his posture, he was grinning.

McCoy harrumphed. "So," he said, slightly less angrily, "how's Spock's meditation going?"

Kirk glanced at Spock, who had not moved despite the direction the conversation had taken. "He's been at it almost the entire day," he said softly.

"Any progress?"

"I don't think so," Kirk said. "He hasn't spoken at all."

Spock moved, making them both jump slightly. "There has been significantly more progress," he reported, blinking slightly as he stood up, stretching his stiff body.

"Have you made contact?" Kirk asked eagerly.

"Affirmative. However, he is unaware of my mental presence. I believe that unconscious suggestion shall be necessary."

"You're going to give him messages?" McCoy asked. "Spock, I don't know if you've noticed, but he can't exactly help us. He's a student – we can't force him to leave Hogwarts to-"

"That will not be necessary."

McCoy glanced between Kirk and Spock. "Am I missing something here?"

Kirk nodded slightly. "We talked about it a bit after you were taken for questioning. Obviously, we can't stay here. The Death Eaters need us to bring Voldemort back, they might break in and try to get us. We haven't seen any sign of that yet," he added quickly, "but it could possibly happen. We need to get out before that."

"But Dumbledore told us to stay put."

Kirk shook his head. "He only told us not to fight them when they took us. If we had and been lucky enough to escape, the Order wouldn't know where we are now."

"They _still_ might not know where we are," McCoy pointed out. "This is a pretty remote area."

"True, but Spock can show them."

"You're saying we're going to break out of here?" McCoy asked incredulously.

Kirk nodded. "Somehow."

"I shall implant my memories of our journey in Mr Potter's dreams," Spock added. "It is my hope that he shall then contact Professor Snape."

_"Snape_?" McCoy repeated. "The two hate each other!"

"I shall include a subtle order to share the information with him," Spock replied.

"Besides," Kirk added, "Snape is the most suitable for the plan. He, as far as we know, understands how the Death Eaters act. At the least, he can keep them away from us. Maybe, if we're lucky, he'll orchestrate a prison-break."

"But..." McCoy protested, "Dumbledore..."

"He spent ages keeping us _in_ the castle, Bones," Kirk pointed out. "He wouldn't let us be handed over so easily. He needs us in his reach for the spell to work. He told us not to fight because it would give them less reason to put us under higher security."

"As it is," Spock added, "they do not believe in any outside threat to our imprisonment. We are, after all, under the false impression that the Death Eaters have a use for us. In addition, the professors at Hogwarts are occupied with teaching."

"And you two knew this all along." It wasn't a question.

Kirk inclined his head, having the good grace to look slightly guilty. "We had a suspicion, yes."

"And you didn't think to tell me?"

"I thought you should rant first," Kirk admitted. "It made our arrest slightly more realistic."

"Glad to know I could help," McCoy said sardonically.

Kirk sighed, but did not continue the argument. "How soon do you think you'll be able to contact Harry, Spock?"

There was no answer, and they turned to the Vulcan in concern, noticing that he was now swaying dangerously on his feet, his eyelids drooping with exhaustion.

"Whoa!" McCoy exclaimed, bounding to his feet and grabbing the Vulcan around the waist, leading him to the nearest bed. "What's brought this on?"

"Consolidating the link required considerable effort on my part," Spock murmured, closing his eyes.

"Will he be alright?" Kirk asked quietly.

McCoy nodded, one hand feeling for a pulse. "He just needs rest. I had no idea telepathy was so tiring..."

Spock did not open his eyes. "It required extending my mental presence to the end of the link and maintaining that position," he explained. "There was considerable distance between us..."

McCoy stared at the Vulcan, noticing that he was beginning to fall asleep. "You don't say."

Spock's eyelids struggled to flutter open, his eyes finding Kirk with slight difficulty. "I shall be ready to attempt unconscious suggestion tonight, Jim."

"No," Kirk said firmly.

Spock's eyes had fluttered close again, but he still argued. "Jim, it is necessary."

"You're exhausted," Kirk pointed out. "I won't let you do it tonight. It can wait another day."

"The Death Eaters-"

"Are not attacking this instant," Kirk interrupted. "And from what you just told us, you'll need all the strength you can get if you're going to use this link."

"Which is why we'll help," McCoy decided.

"Leonard..."

"Just listen to my idea before you shoot it down, Spock," McCoy said softly.

"What do you have in mind, Bones?"

"I've heard," McCoy began slowly, "that more than one person can be included in a mind meld. Vulcan Healers use that method when extra strength is needed. Since this process is obviously draining, I suggest that Spock lets us help."

"Spock?" Kirk asked, turning to the Vulcan.

"You have no experience."

"I do," Kirk reminded him.

"And we don't need to have any," McCoy continued before Spock could argue. "We just need to be able to give you energy so you don't get too drained."

"Leonard-"

"We can't have you collapse during a prison-break," McCoy added, ignoring the interruption. "It's be impractical and," he smiled, "illogical."

Spock sighed, giving in. "Very well."

"Good," McCoy chirped, "now get some sleep, you stubborn hobgoblin!"

Spock immediately complied, not having the strength to resist his body's demands any longer.

oOo

"Sair, ze reading eez fluctuating!" Checkov exclaimed from his position at the science station.

Scott, who had been sitting in the Captain's chair, going over their options in his mind, sat up slightly straighter. "How?"

"Eet's...almost shimmering, sair," Checkov replied, eyes never leaving the screen.

Immediately turning his attention to the screen before him, Scott saw the tell tale shimmer of the computerised image before the stars became still once more.

He made his decision.

"Mr Sulu, put the ship on red alert," he ordered sharply.

"Aye sir."

"What is it Scotty?" Uhura asked, her tone business-like but with a slight undercurrent of worry.

"A cloaking device."

"Romulans?"

"I do nae think so, lad," Scott told Sulu, eying the computer screen grimly. Intellectually, he had known that this moment had been coming, but that had done nothing to help prepare him.

Without warning, a circular ship materialised before the Enterprise, her sudden presence as intimidating as a Romulan warbird. Simultaneously, Checkov announced its presence, not yet having looked up from his screen.

"Sir," Uhura said, her hand to the piece in her ear, "we're being hailed."

Scott took a deep breath, struggling to keep the hammering of his heart under control. "On screen."

The image shimmered and was replaced with the figure of a woman, the hair turned white from stress, lines creasing a face which he had once considered attractive. She looked more than twice her actual age.

"Monty," she said, her voice scratchy from alcohol abuse.

Scott nodded. "Ehlette."

Everyone swivelled around to stare at him at once. The silence was almost palpable.

Ehlette laughed harshly, her eyes glittering. "Oh, did he not tell you? Monty and I go far back." Her eyes bored into Scott's. "Why don't you tell them, Monty? I'm sure they'd love to hear what you did to my brother."


	37. Revenge

**37. Revenge. **

"Yer English has improved, Ehlette," Scott said reluctantly, aware of all the eyes upon him.

"Yes," Ehlette sneered, the expression ill-fitting on her features. "I made a special effort for you, my dear Monty."

"Scotty," Uhura said finally, "who is she?"

"Tohn's sister," Scott replied, as though that made sense to any of the people sitting around him. "He was a friend of mine at the Academy."

"And look at how much that helped him," Ehlette spat. "He'd have been better off if he'd never known you."

"What he did was his own choice," Scott replied tiredly, the memories swirling through his mind.

"He didn't choose to be expelled from the Academy!" Ehlette spat, suddenly more furious than Scott had ever seen her. "I felt his anger, his disappointment, Monty. I felt what that did to him, and he was never the same again."

"You…felt?" Sulu asked, confused.

Ehlette laughed bitterly. "Of course, you wouldn't know, would you? After all, how many times do you see a Gaaran in Star Fleet?"

Uhura's eyes had widened in understanding. "Tohn of Gaar."

Ehlette nodded, the light in her eyes shining madly. "So. You remember."

Chekov, perhaps too young to remember, looked confused. "Who?"

"Tohn of Gaar," Uhura replied after Ehlette nodded her permission, "was one of the first Gaarans to enter Star Fleet Academy. He was discharged after what the Academy called 'dishonourable conduct'…his planet was outraged."

"It was blatant prejudice," Ehlette spat, face twisted with hatred. "Ever since that moment, we Gaarans have vowed to stay away from the Fleet as much as possible. You still get some traitors entering the Academy, though."

"That was nae the full story," Scott retorted. "Tohn abused his telepathic abilities," he told the rest of the crew. "He deserved to be expelled."

"And you did nothing to help him!" Ehlette shouted. "You never even talked to him after he left!"

"He was nae the man I thought he was," Scott said. "And after those memories yeh've shown me, I'm sure my decision was right. He wiped my memories when I got tae suspicious," he told the crew. "He was trying tae blackmail students. He'd mentally attack members of the Academy – they became insane."

"Vot?" Chekov asked in shock, eyes widening.

"He had no choice," Ehlette defended. "I was closer to him than any of my family – I saw into his mind more often. I could see his reasoning, and I understood it. He needed the blackmail money. He was alone on a strange planet, he needed some familiarity!"

"Robbing is nae the way tae go about it!"

"He had no choice!" Ehlette spat. "No one would let him into work because they were suspicious of a new species. He was pushed into it!"

"I could have given him money-"

Ehlette stared at him. "Have you learnt nothing from the memories?"

"I know that he needed my help and I did nae give it," Scott said wearily, having been through this line of thought many times in recent hours. "But I would do the same again. He was obviously becoming dangerous…"

"My brother deserved help."

"He never asked for it. Instead," Scott retorted, "he erased my memory whenever I got close tae finding out."

Ehlette was beginning to shake with fury, looking slightly deranged. "After all I've gone through to make you understand, Monty, and you're still as stubborn as ever."

"There is nae anything to understand."

Ehlette glared. "If you had seen his mind at the moment you abandoned him in the trial," she snarled, "the time that you gave testimony against him, you would not sound as calm about it as you do now."

"I know that it was nae what he expected-"

"Your testimony pushed him over the edge!" She shouted, sounding just as deranged herself. "He needed support!"

"He had his family!"

"He needed people on Earth who understood him, people who could show him that the entire planet wasn't bigoted towards his race! But you just left him there, and didn't even look at him as he was dragged off to prison!"

"Scotty?" Uhura's eyes were fixed on him, both understanding and questioning, and Scott couldn't bear it.

"I left him," he confirmed. "But it was one of the hardest things I have ever done..."

Ehlette scoffed. "And now he's insane, Monty. Some friend you were."

"I never meant for-"

"And yet it happened," Ehlette interrupted. "He's stuck in an institute for the criminally insane, our family has been ruined, and Gaar is no longer trusted among the Federation! And I have to live with the consequences of _your_ actions every day, when you get to roam free, because _I_ happen to still be in mental contact with him." Her mouth tugged down into a frown. "Though the rest of the family has attempted to block him from their minds, I haven't. I keep myself open to him. He _needs_ help."

Scott felt he should ask, although he already knew what the answer was. "Is there a chance of him recovering?"

"Of course there isn't," she snapped. "He's so far gone the doctors gave up years ago, but you wouldn't know that, would you? Heaven forbid that you should actually think about the people you left behind, or the consequences to your actions!"

"I have nae forgotten."

"No," Ehlette replied smugly, "I've seen to that. But I'm not through with you yet, Monty. My brother was hounded, trapped, with nowhere to run."

Scott felt a chill go down his spine.

"I felt his fear. And when he broke, I got his memories, which," she nodded smugly, "you already realise, I'm sure. But most of all, I felt his sense of failure, his realisation that he'd let down his whole planet." She leaned forwards. "You're an intelligent enough man to guess what I'm going to do to you, aren't you, Monty. I don't think it's necessary for me to spell it out."

"Ehlette," Scott said, voice slightly desperate, trying to plead with this woman driven insane by her brother's torment, "this was far in the past, why-"

"Hold a grudge?" She finished. "Because no one else did. No one else cared enough to even try to. His own father won't even visit him anymore – the fool is scared of succumbing to Tohn's insanity. But after all these years, I've finally tracked you down, with the perfect revenge." She licked her painted lips. "Tailor made, if you like, and cooked up by the _very_ best."

"Ehlette, leave the crew out of this."

She threw back her head and laughed, the sound crackling in the speakers, rattling around the room and into the heads of everybody there. "There's no chance of that, Monty. They're instrumental to your comeuppance, you see. It just wouldn't be the same without them."

"But-"

"I really wish I could stay and chat longer, but I must leave," she said abruptly, a perverse smile on her face. "I don't need a view screen to see your pain." She tapped her forehead. "After all those weeks watching you, I'm attuned to your mind well enough."

The screen went blank.

Scott sighed and sat back in the chair, a tired hand tugging at his eyes as he attempted to rid the image from his mind. Tohn's shocked face hovered before his, staring at him from between two guards, betrayal written across every feature.

"I..." He couldn't think of anything to say, knowing that they were all going to die, and it was his fault. They had nothing to do with this.

Suddenly, he felt tender hands on his shoulders and looked up, surprised, to see Uhura's concerned face staring back into his. "Scotty, you couldn't have done anything different."

"I could have visited him," he muttered.

"From what we gather," Uhura countered, "it wouldn't have helped. He had the opinions of two entire planets directed at him. One man wouldn't have made a difference."

Scott sighed, not believing a single word she said. If he had been there, Tohn might have been spared some of his intense grief, the guilt of messing up countless futures.

Biting back all of the emotions he felt swirling inside him, he sat up straight, fixing the room with a determined but resigned glare. "Shields on full." He grimaced, hating himself every time he drew breath. "We'll need them."

oOo

Harry sighed, the words blurring into an incomprehensible mass before his eyes, impossible to decipher. Headlines swam through his mind, the photographs of the officers being dragged with them. The Ministry had immediately jumped at the chance for positive publicity, spinning the words of Kirk, McCoy and Spock so that they promoted the government's own gains. Over the past few days, there had been no respite in the triumphant headlines, the over-exaggeration of justice created at the hands of Umbridge. Rumours had flown around the castle, the subjects of them already having been forgotten as though they were never there. They were, for the majority of the school, just a distant memory now, a topic of conversation to avoid homework.

Umbridge had been insufferable as always with this new victory, her toadlike face becoming more and more detestable every time she read one of the headlines or saw a picture of herself, standing proudly next to Fudge. Invariably, the words "_Umbridge Anticipates Government Threat_" accompanied the pictures, followed by a nonsense article about a plot against Fudge's position.

The DA had been unable to meet at all. It was something which Harry had suspected, in fact he had feared it for a long time, but it still came as a crushing blow. The DA had been the only form of rebellion that he had had, a reminder that he still had some measure of control over his life at Hogwarts. But now, without both that and Quidditch, his life felt meaningless and unproductive, his only distractions being homework and Occlumency lessons.

With the absence of Spock, the Occlumency lessons had become even more disastrously unsuccessful, not that he was exactly brilliant to begin with. As the week had worn on, Snape became more and more infuriated with his regression, now thoroughly convinced that his pupil was incompetent. He had thrown himself into Harry's mind with more and more vigour, and Harry couldn't shake the impression that the man enjoyed it, relished the opportunity to humiliate the son of the man he had hated so much. With every step backwards, Snape became more malicious, and Harry was beginning to wonder if the man wasn't in fact trying to open his mind up to Voldemort. It certainly hadn't stopped the dreams of the Ministry, though these had changed slightly.

Instead of the usual corridor, he frequently found himself entering a busy room, walking through hazy rooms and corridors before reaching an apparition point, landing dazed and confused in what seemed to be an unfamiliar prison. Yet he never managed to reach the end of the dream. Whenever Ron happened to catch sight of him writhing in his bed, Harry was rudely awoken, just moments before he reached a doorway, and the majority of the details were forgotten. At other times, he woke, gasping, his lungs feeling as though they would never be full again, the crushing sensation still there no matter how many times he rubbed his chest.

He was beginning to think he was going mad.

He'd immediately told Ron and Hermione, who had opposing views on the matter.

"Well obviously the dreams are more than just wondering down a corridor, Harry," Hermione had told him.

"What do you think it means?"

"Maybe Voldemort was searching for someone," Hermione said, thinking hard.

"From the Enterprise?" Ron scoffed.

"No, Ron, I mean maybe he was searching for someone before he disappeared, and Harry's seeing into his speculation on where that person might be. It doesn't surprise me that he'd be thinking about it every night," she continued, "since he's in another universe as a prisoner."

"But why not before?" Harry had asked. "Why have the dreams of that part of the Ministry only started now?"

"I'm not sure," Hermione admitted. "Harry, think, when did they start?"

"A few days after Jim, Bones and Spock were taken away."

"Right after?"

"I don't know, Hermione," Harry replied, "I'm not sure."

"You think it's them?" Ron asked, shocked.

Hermione nodded. "It could be...but that would be...I mean it's-"

"What?" Harry demanded.

"The link," Hermione explained. "They didn't think it would work over distance since it wasn't very strong when you were both in the castle."

"Spock's a telepath," Harry said. "He could strengthen it deliberately, couldn't he?"

Hermione looked doubtful. "I don't know, I'm not sure that he could, Harry."

"But it's possible?" Ron persisted.

"Yes," she said finally, "I suppose so."

"Then there's your answer!" Ron exclaimed, glancing back at Harry. "You have a Vulcan in your mind."

"I'm sure it's not as simple as that, Ron," Hermione snapped.

"Why not? It doesn't have to be You Know Who, does it?" Ron challenged. "Just because all of Harry's dreams about the Ministry-"

"Ron, keep your voice down!" Hermione hissed frantically.

"-from You Know Who's perspective, it doesn't mean these are!"

"They don't feel like him," Harry announced. "They feel different – more detached."

"So it's Spock!" Ron deduced.

"I'm still not sure," Hermione said, biting her lower lip slightly. "Harry, this could be a trick."

"A trick?" Harry repeated incredulously.

"Voldemort's been dreaming about the Ministry," Hermione said quickly, her voice so low they had to strain to hear it, "it's obvious he wants something from there. He could be tricking you into getting it for him!"

"Why would he do that?" Ron scoffed.

"Because," Hermione said patiently, "that way none of his Death Eaters would get caught, and if Voldemort gets Harry into Azkaban, he can break him out! It'd be the perfect way to get hold of Harry!"

"Thanks, Hermione," Harry muttered.

"But don't you see it?" Hermione asked, ignoring his discomfort completely. "It would be the perfect plan – he'd have you, and he wouldn't lose anyone!"

"Yeah but he can't exactly do that from the Enterprise, can he?" Ron pointed out.

"He might be desperate enough to carry it out anyway."

"This is Voldemort we're talking about," Harry said darkly. "He's always told his Death Eaters to save me for him. He wouldn't give them the chance of getting to me now, while he isn't here."

"I still think it's possible," Hermione said obstinately. "Harry, you have to tell Professor Snape!"

"_Snape_?" Ron and Harry had exclaimed simultaneously, mouths hanging open.

"Snape?" Ron repeated. "Hermione, are you mental? He's a Death Eater!"

"He's done nothing but help you since you've been at Hogwarts, Harry," Hermione said, ignoring their protests. "If Dumbledore trusts him, so can we."

"Not this again!" Ron moaned.

"And with Dumbledore gone," Hermione continued, regardless of Ron's faces, "we have no choice."

"I'm not telling Snape, Hermione."

Hermione pursed her lips. "Harry-"

"I'm not trusting him with something that could be important!" Harry had said loudly, drawing the attention of several people nearby.

Harry sighed and bit his quill, forcing himself back to the present and to the words before him, which blurred once more. Opposite him, Hermione has paused in her rapidly becoming over-length essay to scrutinise him, her expression concerned. Ron sat beside her, glaring at his own homework, savagely crossing out an entire paragraph before re-writing it.

"Harry," Hermione said softly, "you're staring into space again."

He suddenly realised that he had been sat at the table for almost an hour, and hadn't written a word. "Oh..." he mumbled, returning his attention to the textbook before him, "er...I was thinking."

"Do you need any help?"

"I'm fine, Hermione, thanks," he said. "I'm just tired."

"You need to tell someone about that new vision," Hermione said instantly, and Harry immediately regretted bringing this up again.

"We've been through this. No one would believe me anyway."

"Maybe not, but it's obviously important. I'm sure it would help you to get it off your chest..." She trailed off as Harry stared at her disbelievingly.

"They'll continue no matter what I do," he said despondently. "I think Snape's actually opening my mind up more."

"Have you practiced?" Hermione asked, knowing full well that he hadn't.

"No," he admitted, "but what is there to practice? All I'm meant to do is clear my mind, and it never actually helps..."

"That's because you don't practice enough," Hermione insisted.

"It wouldn't help," Harry said savagely. "He never explains anything, he just expects me to master it straight away."

"You could always ask him to explain," Hermione suggested patiently.

Ron's head shot up from his essay as he eyed Hermione with shock. "Think about what you're saying!" He implored. "This is _Snape_, he'd just give Harry a detention for asking 'inane questions', like he did in Potions."

"Well," Hermione said, slightly nervously, "in that case the question _was_ inane, but I'm sure that if you reasoned with him-"

"So you're on Snape's side now, are you?" Harry demanded hotly.

Hermione was beginning to look exasperated again. "Harry, you asked him why he always insulted your potions."

"It's reasonable to ask," Harry defended. "He insults mine more than anybody else's, and the one I made that lesson was almost perfect!"

"Yes, because I added the _correct_ ingredient when you weren't looking."

"I don't need your help-"

"I know," Hermione said quickly. "I only added it because your cauldron would have exploded otherwise."

"Lucky for me that you're there then, isn't it," Harry said coldly, hating the fact that his friends thought he needed babysitting.

Ron hurriedly buried his face back in his essay, desperately writing in an attempt to block out the argument beginning around him.

"All I'm saying, Harry," Hermione continued, trying to remain calm in face of Harry's fury, "is that he's a teacher, he should listen to-"

"Well he wouldn't, alright? Snape's not the type of person to listen to someone who's basically telling him he's not doing his job properly."

"Not if you phrase it like that," Hermione retorted. "I'm sure if you asked politely-"

"It wouldn't happen, Hermione," Harry said flatly, resolutely returning his attention to his essay.

Hermione sighed, but did not press the point, knowing better than to argue with Harry's mood. They'd been through this particular topic too many times, and neither one of them had ever changed their opinions.

Harry continued to stare at his homework, unable to make sense of the different plants and body parts he found drawn there, silently demanding his detention. He'd been given extra Potions work from Snape for his lack of progress in both Occlumency and the man's subject. Harry's explanations of exhaustion caused by lack of sleep couldn't even be used, unfortunately, because that would only serve to increase the man's irritation, so Harry had had no choice but to do the homework. Which he hadn't done, he reminded himself.

As if on cue, Hermione seemed to sense his thoughts. "Harry, are you sure you don't need he-"

"I'm fine, Hermione," he snapped, regretting his harshness immediately, but unwilling to take it back.

"It's in for this evening," she reminded him blithely, her face buried in her own work.

"I know," he growled, picturing Snape's extremely displeased expression when he conjured up yet another wild excuse.

"You better go, mate," Ron said quietly, glancing at the clock on the library wall. "You don't want to make Snape even angrier."

"Yeah," Harry said vaguely, internally wincing as the Potions Master inside his head yelled at him. He picked up his un-started essay and shoved it in his bag. "Maybe he'll let me escape before the dawn shootings," he muttered, receiving a sympathetic glance from Ron.

He tried very hard to ignore Hermione's look of 'I warned you' as he left the library, the dread clenching around his heart the closer he got to the dungeons. The increasingly cold air seemed to reinforce the sense of impending doom as he trudged through the gloomy corridors, leaving behind the comforting warmth of the library and his friends' company.

Snape was, as usual, sitting behind his desk, frowning at the latest batch of essays that required marking, when Harry knocked.

"Come in, Potter," he ordered, placing the essays to one side.

Harry walked in, suddenly intensely aware of the black eyes studying him as he sat down in his usual chair. He plonked his bag down by his side, and Snape's lip curled.

"Your essay, Mr Potter?" He asked snidely.

Harry forced his facial expression to remain impassive, hating the man before him. "I haven't finished it yet, sir."

"Oh? I was under the impression, Potter, that you have had more than enough time to do so. Perhaps you require more? A month?" He asked sardonically, eyes never leaving Harry's. "After all, the 'Chosen One' need not hand his work in on time."

Harry seethed inwardly. "I'm sorry, sir."

"What is your excuse this time, Potter?" He sat back expectantly. "I am sure it will be inventive, to say the least."

On an impulse, Harry said, "I didn't understand it, sir."

Snape's eyebrows flew to his hairline. "That is one of your more believable excuses," he sneered, "I expect nothing more from a student who frequently achieves the stunning grade of "D" every lesson."

Harry gritted his teeth and forced his voice to remain as civil as possible. "Would you explain it for me, sir?"

Snape looked slightly taken aback, and Harry felt a brief flicker of satisfaction at knowing he was right. "I can hardly teach someone who is so clearly unwilling to learn," he said calmly.

"I _am_ willing," he retorted angrily.

"Your progress would suggest otherwise, Potter. The homework I set you was no higher than the work set for first years. I believed that a return to basics would improve your performance but clearly," he smirked, "I was mistaken."

Harry cursed himself silently. Of course, he had never actually read the information Snape had wanted him to use, and now he had succeeded in giving the man even more cause to look down at him.

"Fifteen points from Gryffindor for failing to even attempt your homework," Snape said softly, eyes boring into Harry's. "You have not practiced shielding your mind, Potter."

Harry quickly averted his eyes. "I have, sir, I just wasn't prepared," he lied.

"Then you are easy prey for the Dark Lord," Snape said simply, "and shall continue to be unless you use your incentive, limited though it may be." He stood abruptly, indicating that the discussion was over. "Stand up, Potter."

Harry reluctantly stood, scrambling to brace himself for the mental onslaught he knew would be coming.

"On the count of three," Snape drawled, lazily raising his wand and focussing his eyes upon Harry's. "One – two – three. _Legilimens_!"

_Harry was seven years old again, sitting cross legged in the Dursley's living room. He squinted his eyes, struggling to focus on the machine before him, but seeing only dull flickering. Sounds raged around him but he had no image to place them with._

_He turned around, looking past the two big blobs which resembled his Uncle and cousin, focussing instead on the taller, thinner image of his Aunt. _

"_Aunt Petunia?" His voice was innocent and polite. He knew better than to let it appear otherwise. _

"_What?" Even with this effort, he still seemed to annoy her. Even though he could not see her face, he could definitely imagine the scowl which accompanied that single word. _

"_I think I need glasses…"_

"_Well you can see, can't you?" Uncle Vernon spat. "As long as you can see where you're going and can do your chores, you're fine! You don't need glasses yet, boy."_

_Harry squashed down the urge to argue. "Yes, Uncle."_

"You are not trying hard enough, Potter," Snape snapped, drawing Harry back to the present to find himself on his knees once more. "You are giving me access to your earliest memories; weapons which can be used against you. You will get nowhere against the Dark Lord, Potter, if you insist upon allowing your memories to play out like a slide show."

"I can't stop it, you're not telling me how!"

"It is self evident, Potter!" Snape snapped. "Even Longbottom would require no explanation – surely even you can empty your decidedly un-crowded mind? Now, let's try again…_Legilimens_!"

_Before Harry could even retort, he found himself once again plunged into his own mind, the scene before him replacing the Potions office._

_Harry was eleven, standing on soft grass, allowing the sun to beat down onto his thin frame, enjoying how it warmed him from the inside out. Birds flew high up in the air, so high that Harry could barely see them, even with the glasses the Dursley's had finally bought him._

_Dimly, he could hear their screeches reaching him, and he allowed himself a brief moment to simply fly with them, soaring through the sky, free as he had never been. And, not for the last time, he wished he could fly away from this place, this family who were not his. Who had never even treated him as if he were theirs. _

_He wished he could escape them all. _

_A ball smacking him in the mouth knocked him out of his reverie, and he felt yet again the weight of a racquet in his hand, reminding him that he was supposed to be playing tennis with his huge lump of a cousin. _

"_Oi!" Said lump bellowed, quivering with rage from where he stood. "You're not playing! You're supposed to be playing with me!"_

_Harry glanced around. The park around him was filled with happy couples and families, all of them smiling, all of them content. He was neither, and he remembered that he never had been. He briefly wondered what such feelings felt like. _

_But, he noticed, his Aunt and Uncle weren't there, just as he'd hoped. If they were, then his long silence would not have gone unpunished. _

_He turned back to Dudley, who was still yelling at him, petulance in every syllable, and resisted the temptation to roll his eyes. Or to smile. This would be his first opportunity of something resembling fun in a long time. _

_He looked his cousin in the eye. "I don't want to," he replied simply, putting down his racquet._

_Dudley became very red in the face. "You have to!"_

"_Why?"_

"_Because I said so, and father says that what I say to you goes!"_

_Harry smirked slightly, enjoying the feeling that accompanied denying his cousin his request. "Uncle isn't here."_

_Dudley glared at him. "Then I'm going to tell him."_

"_You can't," Harry said simply, "he isn't here. And I'm not playing." He picked up the ball and walked away, throwing it high into the air, next to the flying spots of birds, and then catching it again._

_For the briefest instance, he had joined them._

Harry came back to himself suddenly, finding a smile on his face.

"I expect that such disobedience did not go unpunished?" Snape asked quietly.

Harry's smile fell off his face. "Dudley hit me on the head with the racquet," he replied, answering the question, though he wanted nothing better than to push Snape's head into a cauldron of hot liquid. "It broke."

Snape was looking very amused. "I see," he smirked. "Hard-headed in every sense of the word, Potter. Now, perhaps this time you will succeed in at least trying to deny me access."

The wand was again pointed into his face, the one word uttered without force, contrasting the mind tearing into his, not heeding the discomfort it caused Harry.

_People bustled around him, their expressions harried and stressed; showing the effort that working for the Ministry took. Marble fountains punctuated the area, attempting to instil and aura of relaxation to an otherwise busy workplace. _

_He stood before a bored looking guard, who immediately pointed his wand at him. Strangely, Harry felt no fear, instead submitting to the search without question, ignoring the strange sensation covering him with every sweep of his wand. _

_Pockets emptied, he was taken down a draft corridor, the paint getting older and older as he continued, the portraits more infrequent. It occurred to him that this sector of the Ministry was not as well used – there were no people around to see it, other than the Aurors and his two fellows. _

_Next to him, Kirk's expression was stoic, hiding the worry which he knew was buried deep within. McCoy, on the other hand, was still unconscious, expression relaxed as he slumped against Harry. Neither of them allowed themselves to react as they were grabbed by the Aurors, forced into apparition._

"Potter!"

Harry was, unsurprisingly, on the floor again, his lungs still feeling as though they had just been squashed. Snape loomed over him, his expression a bizarre mix of anger and curiosity.

Harry pushed himself up wearily, rubbing his knees and knowing there would be bruises there soon. "Sir?"

"What is that memory?"

"I'm not sure, sir, I haven't seen it quite like that before, sir."

"In what way?" Snape asked quietly, staring at Harry intently.

"There were never…people in it, sir," Harry replied, hesitating slightly.

"People?"

"Kirk and McCoy, sir."

"This is not your memory, Mr Potter. To whom does it belong?"

Harry hesitated, unsure if he should tell Snape and risk the information leaking into the wrong hands, or to simply trust both Hermione's and Dumbledore's judgement.

"I am waiting, Mr Potter. Whose memory is it?"

"I think it's Spock's," Harry replied finally.

"Thank you, Mr Potter, that will be all," Snape said clearly, moving to sit back at his desk.

"But," Harry protested, rage coursing through him, "shouldn't you do something? _Sir_?"

"What would you suggest I do?" Snape asked sarcastically.

"I don't know!" Harry shouted in frustration. "Alert Dumbledore, tell the Order – anything but just _sit_ there!"

"How I react to the news presented to me is my own choice, Potter," Snape said dangerously, not moving from behind his desk. "The lesson is over. I suggest you leave – perhaps you will be able to attempt your homework," he suggested pointedly. "If you fail to hand it in tomorrow, you shall find yourself completing it in detention."

Harry glanced at the clock, and was surprised to discover that it was almost ten o'clock. "But-"

"The door is there, Potter," Snape spat, clearly losing patience. "I am sure you do not need directions or instructions on how to use it."

Harry glared at the man before him, wondering how he could possibly ignore the information he had just seen in Harry's mind. Without another word, he slammed out the room. He completely missed the scheming look on Snape's face as the door thudded shut.


	38. The Great Escape

**38. The Great Escape. **

**Author's Note: The next few chapters will be slashy, for those of you who don't like it, though it may vary from passing reference to obvious. **

Smoke billowed around the room, creeping its way into Scott's nostrils and obstinately obscuring his vision. The room was filled with the stench of burning wires – a fiery carcass of a ship. The craft that he had just finished fixing was now on its last legs, brought to its knees by the circular bringer of death before them. Never had he seen something so apparently innocent transform into something without mercy. The ship fitted its captain, he reflected as the ground shuddered beneath his feet once more.

Groans of both human and object swirled into Scott's ears, wrenching his heart with every sound. He could not believe that he had done this, that something so right and innocent all those years ago could come back and cause disaster in his own future. Take away the future of others.

And he was to blame for it all. There was no escaping that. He had left Tohn to fend for himself – he who had the most evidence to lead to a possible defence, not enough to rid his friend of charges, but enough to keep some semblance of a life. But instead he had turned his back on him, and sentenced him to a long life behind bars, his mind able to roam beyond, taunting the body with its knowledge of the outside world. His mind had driven itself into madness.

Scott did not even stop to consider that the madness had already been there. He could never do that to himself, because that would be admitting that he had missed the problem. But most of all, it would mean admitting to himself that he could have done something to help if only he'd seen it, if only he'd remembered which memories had been erased before now. But deep down, he knew that that would never have been possible.

So he sat and stewed in his own guilt as his ship effectively blew up around him, taking the people he loved with it.

The shields had been reduced to tatters, blown to pieces by the weapons of revenge. Hatred flowed into the ship from the space around it, carried by the sheer force of the attack. The hatred was almost palpable, and Scott couldn't bear it, not knowing that this was all the crew would know when they died.

Scott sat up straighter, mentally slapping himself. He couldn't give up. He might deserve this punishment, but his crew didn't. His crew deserved to be able to make the best of themselves, to live out their lives without Scott's mistakes weighing over them.

They deserved to be free of him.

"Report, Chekov," he ordered brusquely, keeping his facade of command firmly in place.

"Ve're dead, sair," Chekov muttered, resting his head on his broken console, seeming not to notice the sparks flying around his head.

Scott gritted his teeth. "Sit up, Mr Chekov," he said sharply, feeling satisfied when Chekov snapped to attention immediately.

The crew turned to stare at him, noticing this change in demeanour with slight shock. Until now, Scott had been dazed, lost in memories, giving orders on automatic and without his usual zeal when presented with a problem. Until now.

"Sir?" Sulu asked quietly, hope shining in his eyes.

"We're not goin' tae let her finish us," Scott said simply. "We're going to fight back."

"So what are we going to do?" Sulu questioned, a smile spreading across his face.

Scott felt an answering one grace his features. "We take it one step at a time, lad." He turned to the science station, and ignored the brief pang as he didn't see Spock, but instead a young Ensign by the name of Carter. "Position of the ship?"

"Circling us, sir."

The ship rocked slightly as another shot hit them, sending a few more sparks flying into the air. Scott felt the cold hand of rage gripping his stomach.

"Condition of the ship?"

"Better off than us, sir. As far as I can tell from this alien technology," he reported, voice not nearly as calm as Spock's would be in a crisis, "the shields are at 75 per cent and the engines are functioning normally. Their arms supply is also relatively undiminished..."

Scott grimaced. "Thank ye, Ensign."

There was another crash and one of the engineers went down, screaming as he clutched his head, fire showing through the gaps in his hands. His console had exploded in his face.

Scott punched a button in the chair. "Sick Bay to Bridge. We have a casualty." Without waiting for an answer, he ran over to the man, recognising him as Samuel Black, the one who had helped him with repairs before this entire mess started.

"Sam," he said gently, placing his hand on the man's shoulder and leading him to a corner to sit down, "the medics are coming."

He absently noticed that the fire seemed to have gone out.

As if to reinforce this statement, a medic came running onto the Bridge, saw Scott sitting with Black by the engineering station, and hurried over, expression simultaneously businesslike and worried.

"What have we got?" He asked, dropping down onto one knee in front of the injured man.

"The console exploded in his face," Scott supplied, his hand never leaving the man's shoulder.

The ship shook.

"I've got him from here, Captain," the medic said, and Scott felt the familiar jolt that accompanied the title which wasn't his.

"They're still circling!" Carter announced as Scott sat back in his seat.

"Right," Scott said, determination evident in those few syllables. "Aim for their engines."

Chekov grinned at him and turned back to his console, doing nothing to hide his relief. "Aye sair."

Fingers flying over his almost destroyed console, Chekov set about following the course of the attacking ship, noting that it never changed direction and instead persisted in circling the Enterprise, showing nothing other than confidence in this predictable strategy.

Chekov watched this on his screen for a moment before he pressed a button with a flourish, and something rocked the ship. Chekov whooped. "Get 'em sair!"

"One engine has been almost neutralised."

"Fire at will, Chekov."

"Aye, sair."

Chekov pressed the button multiple times, his face blank this time as he continued to barrage the enemy ship. Their own ship continued to shake, but not from injury.

"One engine has been blown away," Carter reported in excitement.

The attacking spherical ship came into view once more on the main screen, spinning madly from the sudden loss of velocity on one side.

"Aim for the bottom of the ship, Chekov," Scott ordered. "Keep firing while they're still disoriented."

"Vot about ze engine?"

"Getting that at the same time would be great," Scott said with a smirk, his eyes still glued to the screen.

He could see Chekov grin back at him out the corner of his eye. Red lasers launched themselves at the enemy ship, who fired back, but Sulu was ready.

The Enterprise lurched and managed to avoid the majority of the retaliation fire, though yet another shake rocked the ship as it skidded to a halt. Sulu quickly turned them around, and Chekov resumed firing, his body stiff with tension.

Something splintered away from the bottom of the ship, sending packages and boxes spiralling out into deep space, some of them opening to reveal extra tools.

"We hit their supplies!" Sulu exclaimed in surprise, turning to Scott.

Scott nodded. "Gaarans always keep supplies beneath the main complex."

As if enraged by the attack, there was another round of fire from the circular ship, and the lighting on the Enterprise went out suddenly, replaced quickly by emergency power.

"Lieutenant Uhura," Scott sighed, "I hate tae say this, but send a distress call to Star Fleet. We might need help."

"Yes sir." She turned back to her console, blocking out everything else around her.

"Chekov," Scott added, turning back to the young Russian, "aim at where the engine was."

"Sair?"

"They keep their weapons nearby," Scott said, trying to forget the quarters they would have to destroy to get there. "We need to get rid of them."

"Aye sair."

The com on the captain's chair beeped. "Scott."

"Sir!" A voice, breathless from the fight, assaulted his ear drums, shouting over an alarm in the background. "We've lost the prisoners!"

For a moment, all activity stopped and everyone who wasn't immediately doing something met eyes with Scott for an instant, before the spell was broken and they all resumed their work.

"What?"

"I don't know what happened sir!" The voice babbled, and he could practically imagine them staring at the empty cells even as they spoke. "I heard the alarm go off," the alarm wailed as if to confirm this, "and hurried to see for myself – they're not there, sir!"

"Carter!" Scott called, glancing at the science officer, "did you instruments read any energy fluctuations?"

Carter quickly checked his instruments, and turned back around, eyes wide. "Yes, sir. It was very slight – so slight I missed it. They transported the prisoners off the ship."

"How did they do it through our shields?" Sulu asked.

"Carter, what is our shield strength?"

"Forty per cent and rapidly getting worse, sir."

Scott grimaced. "That's how. They've obviously improved their technology..." He remembered the man on the other end of the com at the last moment. "Thank ye for the report, Scott out." He flicked the switch.

"Sir," Uhura said, "Star Fleet's come through, but there seems to be some interference."

"Try tae break through it."

"Aye sir."

"We need to get the prisoners back," Scott announced, "and we need to do it soon. There is nae knowing how this battle will end."

Everyone stared at him.

It was Sulu who spoke up. "What do you want to do, sir?"

Scott grinned. "Luckily, I know how their ships are laid out. All we need to do is this..."

oOo

"Do you think it worked?" McCoy asked quietly.

Spock blinked, clearing away the after affects of the meld. "I am not certain."

McCoy sighed and stood up, pacing the cell in frustration. "This has to work!"

"I'm sure it will, Bones."

McCoy raised his eyebrows. "Most people don't even remember their dreams, Jim. What if Harry doesn't remember this one?"

"Mr Potter is extremely aware of his unconscious mind."

"And with a mind like Voldemort's infiltrating his," McCoy snapped, "I'm not surprised, but this dream wasn't exactly memorable in comparison, was it? He might not remember it, and if he does, what if he can't do anything?"

"Bones, we've been through this. He'll go to Snape."

"No," McCoy corrected, "he _might_ go to Snape, but there's a greater chance he might not."

"This evening Mr Potter is required to attend an Occlumency lesson," Spock said quietly. "If Mr Potter does not volunteer the information, it is possible that Professor Snape will be made aware of it nevertheless."

"How likely is that?" McCoy demanded.

"The odds are surprising," Spock said simply. "Mr Potter was hardly proficient at the technique."

"Wasn't he?" Kirk asked in surprise. "From what you told me after the first lesson, I thought he'd have picked it up by now. He hexed Professor Snape, didn't he?"

Spock nodded his head. "He did. However, he has made little progress. As a matter of fact," he added, "he has regressed."

"Well isn't that just _wonderful_," McCoy muttered.

"It is."

"Why are you agreeing with me?"

Spock looked slightly confused. "I concur with you because you are correct, Leonard. It is advantageous with regards to our situation."

Now it was McCoy's turn to look confused.

"Sarcasm obviously wasn't in the book," Kirk murmured with affection, smiling at them both.

McCoy rolled his eyes. "Never mind," he told Spock.

"I believe you misunderstand. This is a beneficial development as it further increases the odds of Professor Snape discovering the information within the mind of Mr Potter."

"But the lesson's in the evening!"

"It is, Leonard."

McCoy sighed. "Then this is going to take a while."

"Bones," Kirk admonished, "we've been in this position several times before. We can wait a few more hours."

"Thanks for reminding me," McCoy groaned. "As if I'd want to remember all the times we've been locked up like animals."

Spock raised his eyebrows. "There is no cause for impatience."

"Not now, but there might be. He might never come, we might get attacked by Death Eaters...these idiots could interrogate us until we bore ourselves to death..."

Now it was Kirk's turn to roll his eyes. "You always make being locked up so much harder."

"Complaining is a form of coping," McCoy retorted.

"Or floundering."

"Shut up, Jim."

Silence settled in the room between each of them, making the atmosphere slightly tense. All they could do was watch each other as the hours ticked by, leaving little impression on them besides achy limbs and slight boredom from a lack of change of scene.

The door opened and a guard stepped in. "Lunch," he announced.

"Not much of a talker, are you?" McCoy quipped as he took his bowl of soup from the man.

The guard simply looked at him.

"You don't want a chat?" Kirk asked, much to Spock's confusion.

"Jim, Leonard-"

"You're not going to tell us what's happening outside?" Kirk continued, looking slightly forlorn.

The guard snorted. "It's no different than in here."

Kirk took his bowl of soup. "Are you sure? You haven't seen any interesting mice, giant bugs?"

"Stray unicorns?" McCoy added hopefully.

Spock and the guard both stared at them.

"Wow," the guard laughed, "it's happened early. Usually the prisoners don't crack up until they're actually _in_ Azkaban."

"Azkaban," McCoy said with an exaggerated shiver.

"I think its name sounds romantic," Kirk said dreamily. "Az_ka_ban," he pronounced, lifting his arm before him as though reaching out to something and staring into the distance.

The guard snorted and handed Spock his soup. "Good luck with these two clowns."

Spock nodded. "Although I do not believe in the concept of luck...it is always possible that I am mistaken," he said wryly. "If it exists, it shall be needed in abundance."

The guard chuckled and sauntered out the room, locking the door behind him. As soon as they were alone, Spock turned his stare on them. "Gentlemen?"

"Hey," McCoy replied, spreading his hands, "we have to amuse ourselves somehow..."

Kirk chuckled and sat back down on his bed, sipping his soup and foregoing the spoon completely. "I think we've been in too many of these situations."

"You can definitely say that again. I've lost count."

"I believe that, at the last incident, the figure was five," Spock replied seriously, "not including this one, of course."

Kirk grinned. "Of course."

McCoy dipped the spoon into the soup and grimaced as he sent a slightly shrivelled piece of vegetable spinning. "I'm not even sure what this is."

"Vegetable soup, unless I am very much mistaken."

"Yes, you _are_ very much mistaken, Spock," McCoy replied with a sigh. "It is, in fact, fondu."

"Fondu?"

"Fondu," McCoy repeated, grinning.

"You possess an over-zealous imagination, Leonard."

"Anything is better than this," he emphasised, letting the soup run from his spoon and slosh back into the bowl.

"It's not that bad," Kirk admonished, finishing his tenth sip and starting another.

"Prison really has got to you, Jim."

"I actually think it's better than some of the food we get from the replicators on the Enterprise."

McCoy snorted. "What do you expect? That stuff's recycled."

"I was trying to forget that, Bones, funnily enough."

McCoy smirked. "Sorry."

"So," Kirk chirped after a few more moments of silence. "Is anyone up for a game of I spy to pass the time?"

McCoy snorted. "Using what? There's nothing here."

"We'll think of something," Kirk replied, and with that he launched into the game, stopping only to explain it to Spock.

Despite the fact that they hadn't played this since before the Academy, they found that it did help to pass the time, if anything. Though they quickly ran out of things to 'spy', Kirk was not fazed and introduced another rule – things seen in the past, which made it considerably more difficult.

Hours came and went almost unnoticed as they focused on their childhood activity, clinging to it in the hope that it would make them forget the possibilities for their futures. The possibility that they might never get out of Azkaban, might never get back to the ship, and might never see Hogwarts again. The game provided solace, relief, and they were not going to pass it up simply because it was outdated.

"Dragon?" McCoy repeated incredulously, staring at Spock. "You've seen a _dragon_?"

"It was probably in a nature textbook," Kirk replied.

"It was real."

"_When_," McCoy demanded, "did you ever see a _dragon_?"

"I was 7," Spock began.

"Not 7 and a ridiculous number of decimal points?" Kirk teased.

"Negative. I witnessed the dragon's flight at the exact moment I turned 7."

"Right," McCoy murmured, rolling his eyes, "but where?"

"I had been given the opportunity to accompany my father to a relatively little known planet, new to the Federation, named Ykotope."

Kirk blinked. "I don't think I'd ever be able to pronounce that."

"It is considerably difficult for the human tongue to master correctly."

"Yeekowtopee," McCoy attempted, to Kirk's amusement.

"That was not correct, Leonard."

"I know," McCoy snapped. "You don't need to rub it in."

Before Spock could argue, the door swung open to admit three Aurors, all of them sullen. "Come with us," one of them ordered.

"Where to?" Kirk asked simply, standing up without a second thought.

"Never mind that," one of the other Aurors snapped, glancing into the corridor. "Just come with us."

Exchanging confused glances, the three officers followed. The Aurors led them through the corridors and past silent cells, hands shoved into pockets and grasping wands tightly out of sight. Kirk raised his eyebrows at McCoy, who grimaced in reply.

"Stop here," the abrupt Auror ordered, putting his hand up to stop them.

"Isn't this the appar-"

"Stand still," the abrupt Auror interrupted, slightly louder than necessary. He reached out a hand and clamped it onto McCoy's shoulder, his eyes never leaving McCoy's face. A small sneer, somehow familiar, graced his lips. The surgeon took the hint and fell quiet.

Meanwhile, the other two Aurors had grabbed Kirk and Spock, holding them in place with no effort, before stepping forewords and disappearing with a muffled pop. McCoy closed his eyes and braced himself for the worst.

Several tortuous seconds of lung squeezing later, McCoy stood panting in what he recognised to be the Ministry of Magic – the same room they had originally been brought to before imprisonment, to be precise.

There was no one around, and he belatedly realised that it was almost the middle of the night.

"Well," McCoy said after several moments of silence, "that was easy."

"We aren't out yet," the abrupt Auror, who appeared to be the leader, replied. He moved forwards, taking everyone else with him.

"This was a brilliant idea," one of the other Aurors chuckled. "They'll never suspect their own people."

The lead Auror smirked. "I see you are finally beginning to understand subtle planning," he said sarcastically. "Perhaps now your future missions will not be such failures."

The smile fell off the Auror's face. "Hey," he said loudly, "the Dark Lord is happy with my results, Snape."

McCoy's eyes popped, the sneer from before suddenly joining a memory of the Potions Master.

Snape rounded on the man immediately. "Idiot!" he hissed. "Have you forgotten already that walls have ears? You have just-"

An alarm blared suddenly and defiantly.

The indiscreet Auror glanced around nervously. "What was that?"

Snape looked murderous. "Crabbe has set off the alarms," he replied quietly, "instead of deactivating them."

"How are we supposed to get them out the front door now?" The idiotic Auror asked nervously.

Snape glared at him. "Conspicuously," he snapped. "I had planned on secrecy, but it appears that you all had other plans."

The Auror who had not yet spoken pressed his lips into a thin line. "I warned you not to bring them, Snape."

"You know very well why I did," Snape snapped, the tone odd coming from another body. McCoy instantly realised that the Death Eaters had been using Polyjuice Potion. "Come on," he ordered, dragging them bodily towards the door.

A tall Auror burst through the previously closed door, tripping over his own feet, wand raised and panting. "They're coming!"

"That's because you activated the alarms, you idiot!" The quiet Auror snarled.

"I didn't mean to!" The man who must have been Crabbe replied immediately. "There were too many – and before I could get rid of them all, one I didn't recognise went off and-"

"Yes," Snape replied coldly, "we were present for that part of the tale, thank you."

Crabbe fell silent, a shamed expression on his face.

Before they had any time to do anything, the door crashed open again and a small squad of Aurors walked in, wands raised, only to eye them with confusion.

"What are you doing?" McCoy recognised the speaker as Shacklebolt, from Kirk's description of the day Dumbledore fled Hogwarts.

Snape regarded them coolly, but it was the quiet Auror who answered. "We're moving them to Azkaban," he said smoothly. "The order came through."

Shacklebolt wasn't convinced. "At midnight?"

"These things can't be delayed," the quiet Auror replied.

Crabbe shuffled nervously, and Shacklebolt seemed to hone in on this detail. "Have you got something to say?" He asked quietly.

Crabbed opened his mouth, closed it, and looked to Snape for help. That brief hesitation sealed their fate.

The Aurors immediately lunged at them, light streaming from their wands, and both Snape and the quiet Death Eater barely managed to dive to the side before the curses hit the area they had been standing in, taking the three officers with them.

"We trusted you," Kirk said immediately, glaring at Snape, who sneered from under the Polyjuice Potion.

"This is hardly the time or the place, Kirk," Snape replied tersely, flicking a curse back at the Aurors. One of them dropped to the ground, writhing.

"Brilliant plan, Snape, bringing those idiots along with us," the quiet Death Eater snarled, rolling out the way of a curse and bringing Spock with him, lifting him up to use as a human shield. "The Dark Lord would be so proud."

"I didn't ask for your opinion, Avery," Snape snapped back, yanking McCoy and Kirk to their feet and dragging them behind a marble fountain. Avery and Spock followed, dodging curses as they went. "All I ask from you is that you don't get yourself caught."

"And the idiots?" Avery asked casually.

"They are expendable."

Avery smiled slightly. "And if they survive this, we'll punish them for their failure."

Snape nodded wordlessly, sending another hex in the direction of the crowd of Aurors, who had begun to break up and drift to other areas of cover.

There was a scream of despair and Avery glanced over the edge of the fountain. "Pettigrew is down."

McCoy risked a look, noticing that the aforementioned man was currently lying bound at the feet of Shacklebolt, who still had his wand raised from casting the spell.

"Crabbe has fled..." Kirk added.

Avery snarled at him. "Keep out of this, Squib."

Snape said interrupting the brewing argument, "we must create a wall."

Avery glanced at the fountain before him, and nodded. Together, the two Death Eaters made the water in the fountain swirl, lifting it into the air to form a liquid barrier between them and the Aurors, before freezing it and reinforcing it with Shield Charms.

"Get up," Snape ordered, pointing his wand at them.

They stood, Kirk and McCoy throwing Snape filthy looks for good measure. Avery seemed almost amused by this.

Keeping his wand trained on them, Snape turned to his companion. "I will be behind you."

Avery nodded and began walking forwards, never taking his eyes off either the Aurors hacking away at the ice or the captives walking behind him. Sidestepping debris and a bleeding Crabbe, who had been shot down as he fled, they reached a corridor just as the ice burst.

Shards of frozen water flew everywhere, announcing the breaking of the spell and an oncoming barrage of Aurors. Shacklebolt lifted his wand and flung a spell at Avery, leaving the others to deal with Snape.

Just as the spell was about to reach its mark, Avery pulled Kirk in front of him, allowing him to bear the brunt of the attack. Much to McCoy's alarm, Kirk collapsed into Avery's arms, the wizard staring at him in disgust but keeping hold of him, using him as a shield to block the remainder of stray curses.

"Don't move," Avery ordered when McCoy tried to go over to Kirk.

Snape was to one side, deflecting attacks almost expertly, pushing Spock down and out of the way. He turned and glared at Avery, the stare only lasting a few seconds before he was distracted by the enemy fire. "I told you not to harm them! They need to be alive for the spell to work."

"He's not dead yet," Avery spat back, swiftly making his way backwards down the corridor, Kirk still serving as a human barrier.

McCoy ducked and stayed down as a stray spell flew at his head.

Snape, keeping low, joined them, pulling Spock with him. "Get up, McCoy. You are no use to us there."

"What exactly do you want me to do?" McCoy spat, glaring. "Act as a human shield? You already have two of those."

Snape growled slightly and yanked him up by the scruff of his neck, throwing him further into the corridor. He flung himself back to the floor as a spell streaked over his head. "This body is hardly agile," he grumbled, scrambling back to his feet and turning around to face his attackers fully, keeping Spock at his side.

McCoy inched along the corridor, dodging curses and hexes, wondering if the Aurors were simply bad at aiming or actually trying to hit him.

Avery's hand reached out and grabbed him, jolting him out of his thoughts, and he found Kirk's unconscious body thrust into his hands. "Here," the Death Eater snapped, "make yourself useful and keep hold of him, if you know what's good for you."

McCoy scowled but obediently hitched Kirk into a more comfortable position. He glanced back at Spock and Snape, surprised that Spock was doing nothing to escape Snape's grasp. Snape was still inching his way back, dragging Spock with him and preventing the curses from getting too close to him.

Shacklebolt had almost reached the corridor now, the air around him shimmering slightly as the Shield was put into use. He raised his wand and, with a slight nod at Snape which Avery failed to notice, allowed a powerful jet of magic to hurtle towards Snape and Spock.

Snape pushed Spock to the side, causing the surprised Vulcan to stumble towards McCoy, and took the full blast.

Avery stared in shock.

Shacklebolt, having felled Snape for the time being, stepped over the unconscious body and pointed his wand at Avery.

Forgetting for a moment that his fellow Death Eater was lying on the floor, Avery smirked. "You wouldn't attack me," he spat, "not when I have three hostages."

"You're outnumbered," Shacklebolt replied simply, keeping calm despite the wand pointed at him. His Shield continued to shimmer around him.

The Death Eater opened his mouth to utter a spell, but was distracted by Snape staggering to his feet behind Shacklebolt, and that was all McCoy and Spock needed.

Keeping a tight hold on Kirk, they quietly walked to the side, leaving Avery with no human shields. In the split second it had taken them to do so, Avery's head whipped around to stare at them, hatred burning in the depths of his eyes, before he raised his free hand to touch a pendant draped around his neck, previously hidden by the folds of his robes.

Casting an apologetic look at Snape, Avery touched the Portkey and disappeared. Staggering from the effort, Snape cast a silent charm on Shacklebolt, who was just turning around from dealing with Avery. The Auror's form crumpled to the floor.

Polyjuice Potion beginning to wear off and affected by the force of the spell he had taken in Spock's place, Snape had trouble making his way to the apparition point, stumbling as he fended off the spells of the remaining Aurors.

"We have to get Jim to some Healers," McCoy yelled above the noise.

Playing along, Spock helped hoist Kirk into a more suitable position and moved forward. They began making their way back towards the Aurors, ducking spells and in the confusion obscuring their view of Snape.

"Get out the way!" The attacking Auror yelled as Snape began to turn on the spot, before disappearing with a pop. He rounded on the officers with a snarl. "You just stopped me from catching Snape!"

McCoy forced his eyes to widen. "What? He escaped?"

The Auror eyed them in disgust before rushing away to help take care of Crabbe, who was beginning to regain consciousness.

McCoy grinned. "That went well."

oOo

Spock glanced up as McCoy entered the room, noting the weary posture, the lines which seemed to have sprung from nowhere to settle around his face. He looked ten years older, mouth pulled into a thin line, none of the usual expressions present. He looked empty, defeated, and Spock found he did not like the sight at all.

"Leonard?"

McCoy sighed and sat down on a chair opposite Spock, running his hand across his tired eyes. "They're not sure he's going to make it, Spock. He was hit by so many curses, some of them at the same time..."

Spock forced himself to remain seated. Vulcans, he reminded himself, do not panic.

He panicked.

Suddenly unsure of what to do with himself, he stood up, but then was at a loss of where to go from there. He sat back down, melting into the slightly lumpy cushions that so characterised Number 12 Grimmauld Place.

As soon as the impromptu battle had been finished, an Auror who they had not recognised had roused Shacklebolt and, in the resulting confusion as the Aurors bustled the captured Death Eaters away and reinforced the spells around the building, the three officers had been taken to the apparition point, bringing them here.

Their safe place.

Except, Spock reflected, it was not actually that safe, not for the man currently lying in one of the house's spare bedrooms, locked in a coma from the effect of the attack. He had not awoken at all since he had been knocked unconscious – he had not even stirred, and a part of Spock was terrified.

A large, dominant part, he realised, but had trouble admitting to himself. He should feel emotionless, he knew. He should not feel the raging torment inside him every time he considered that his friend would not make it. He should not feel shame for feeling those emotions and then shame at feeling he should not feel them.

He was conflicted to say the least, and he had never been more so for as long as he could remember.

"Spock," McCoy said softly, "it's alright. You don't need to worry about the fact that you care for him."

Spock looked up, staring at the human that still continued to amaze him as much as the man lying dying on the bed. "Leonard?"

"Don't go thinking I can read your mind," McCoy continued ruefully, but his voice was without humour. "I've just become pretty damn good at reading your subtle expressions."

"I see."

"You really care for him, don't you?" McCoy asked abruptly, his blue eyes suddenly piercing Spock's very flesh. "You've come to love him."

Spock shook his head. "That particular emotion has always been present," he murmured, before he realised what he was doing and stop himself.

McCoy nodded. "I knew that after that incident in the Room of Requirement," he said quietly, his eyes never leaving Spock. "But I think that's the first time I've heard you admit it out loud."

Spock inclined his head reluctantly. "It is."

McCoy sighed and stood up, moving to sit next to him. "Spock, you have to tell him if-" he took a deep breath, cutting himself off, "_when_ he wakes up."

"What is his condition?"

McCoy's weariness seemed to increase. "His nervous system is a mess, Spock. The Healers talked me through the effect of some of those spells and, though I hate myself for saying it, he outdid himself this time. Even if I had my equipment with me, I couldn't do a single thing to save him."

"The Healers?"

"They've done all they can."

"Leonard..." he hesitated briefly, instinctually unable to discuss something so secret, something that his planet had never revealed. "There may be a solution."

"What is it?"

"On Vulcan," Spock said quietly, knowing that such an introduction was necessary, "emotions were once valued to such an extent that they were fought over. There used to be a ritual for cases such as this. The patient would be offered the option of..."

"Of what?" McCoy prodded gently.

"The process," Spock continued, beginning the explanation anew, "required the viewing of strong emotional attachment, in order to, in essence, give the injured party something to live for. Essentially, a bond is formed between the two involved, the deep emotions serving to draw the patient from within their own mind and back to reality."

"You can use love to pull him out a coma?" McCoy asked, surprised despite himself.

Spock nodded. "It is an archaic tradition, and merely a rumour. I am not certain if it stems from fanciful legend or truth."

"You have to give it a try, Spock, before it's too late," McCoy said immediately.

Spock nodded. "I intend to, Leonard."

And just as they thought the situation could get any worse, Snape stumbled through the front door, having evidently just apparated there, and collapsed to the ground in a heap, the raging shouts of Mrs Black drowning out McCoy's instinctive medical orders as they carried him into the house, shutting the door behind them.


	39. Rescues

**39. Rescues. **

"Jim?"

Spock found himself in a black void, the conscious area of Kirk's mind, uninhabited for now due to the effects of the spells.

Ignoring the tangible and eerie silence, Spock collected himself and slowly ventured forwards, mindful of the need for caution in Kirk's fragile condition. In the physical realm, McCoy was monitoring their conditions, poised in case something went wrong.

Spock did not allow himself to dwell on that possibility.

The air around him gradually eased into a light blue as he steadily descended into the intricate web of what was Kirk's mind. He felt a slight breeze begin to ruffle his hair, clouds forming around him in a comforting cage.

He broke through the cloud gently, aware that this was a natural barrier created by Kirk's mind, and felt a brief tingling sensation, as though he had just been doused in warm water.

Yet he was dry and he knew, with absolute certainty, that he was now completely immersed in his friend's mind.

A lone bird flew past, signalling that he was getting closer. Sure enough, he saw a hazy map before him, a carpet of all that was James T Kirk.

It was as though the world was flat, simple upon first sight, but as he drew nearer he saw that this was just a clever illusion, a way of hiding what really lay within.

Large mountain ranges bordered the map-like world before him, leaving access difficult for those who tried to enter on a simple level. It was as though Kirk had built a natural wall around himself, hiding his complexity from the world.

It was only those who truly knew him, who recognised him for the sophisticated and emotional person he was, who could get in. Those who simply allowed themselves to see a swashbuckling captain would see only mountains, only a barrier.

Spock navigated himself slowly over the snow capped regions, his form that of a bird in order to ease his travel.

His eagle eyes saw a rainforest begin to pan out before him, melting seamlessly into the mountains, a bizarre mix of habitat. Slightly warmer, greeting and congratulating the intruder on getting past his first defences, but still warning him away, telling him not to get any closer, to abandon the man within.

Still in the sky, Spock flew over the rainforest, neither surprised nor shocked to see the sky begin to darken once more, the trees melting away, presenting him instead with the image of space, stars surrounding a gleaming ship which he instantly recognised as the Enterprise.

This was the real Jim Kirk, Spock knew. The nature that he had seen were walls which, while also a part of the man, did not show the true picture. He was layered, unravelling before Spock's very eyes.

Kirk was dedicated to those he loved, fighting for them tooth and nail when the situation demanded it. He searched for them when everyone else had given up, he argued with Star Fleet over them, risked his career for them. He rivalled Scotty with his deep care for the Enterprise – his first true home. Spock had been told enough by Kirk to know that, and he felt privileged to see such an intimate part of his friend.

But when he drifted through the metal of the ship, now taking on his true form and planting his feet firmly on the ground, he was shocked at what he saw.

Kirk sat in the captain's chair, staring vacantly into space, and Spock knew that he hadn't been seen. The human's posture was slumped, one arm dangling over the chair's armrest, and his eyes were tired. The set of his shoulders was heavier than Spock had ever seen it. He was defeated.

But what struck Spock most was the emptiness. There was no chatter here, no whirring of machines. It was as if Kirk had found the ship, found his dream, but didn't know what to do with it, who to let in.

Spock braced himself and stepped forwards, his focus on the man before him, lost in the centre of his own mind.

"Jim."

Kirk stirred, the eyes drifting slowly over to Spock, blinking sluggishly. "Spock? What are you doing here?"

"I have come to save you."

"Save me?" Kirk repeated, his voice hollow. Tired. "Spock, there's nothing to save." He gestured around him. "This ship is empty. There's no one here."

Acting on impulse, Spock took a few steps forward, keeping his eyes open for a reaction from the man before him. "I am here."

Kirk uttered a hollow laugh. "For how long? No one I've ever known has stayed."

Spock ignored the brief shiver that ran down his spine as he looked at the man before him. The man who looked so broken, so _alone_ – nothing like the Jim Kirk he thought he knew.

"I am here," Spock repeated, his voice firm. "Always."

"Sam left me," Kirk continued, bypassing Spock's words. "He got married. Went to live on another planet…" he finally met Spock's eyes. "Everyone leaves me."

"I will not, Jim. I am here for you – always."

Kirk seemed not to believe him. "They all said that. My mum – but she was never really there for me to begin with. Not really. She sees my Dad. She never sees me. _Everyone_ sees him – they say they're here for me, but they never are." He blinked, the action full of immeasurable weariness. "Why can't they see me, Spock?"

Feeling incredibly out of his depth, Spock continued to walk forwards until he was directly in front of Kirk, almost touching the knees of the seated man. "Jim," he said softly, "you have proven yourself to be your own person. You have accomplished many great things, both academically and in the eyes of Star Fleet. You _are_ James Kirk, and are respected as such. Everyone aboard the Enterprise, everyone at Star Fleet – your family," he said firmly, "love you for who you are."

Kirk allowed a wry smile to grace his lips. "That doesn't sound much like you. What happened to all the logic?"

"This is a mind meld, Jim," he replied flatly. "There are no barriers, no social rules. What you see is my true self, just as I see yours."

"I've never been so open before," Kirk confessed, gesturing around him. "It feels…strange."

Spock nodded. "It will be unfamiliar, without experience."

"I'm not sure I like it."

"That is not unexpected," Spock replied. "However, you need not worry. I am a friend, Jim, perhaps more so than you realise," he added quietly.

Kirk's eyes began to sharpen in their focus. "What?"

"I have not been completely open with you, Jim. I allowed my Vulcan heritage, and the beliefs of my Vulcan peers, to cloud my judgement. I have allowed it to bury my human emotions."

"What are you trying to tell me?" Kirk's voice was hopeful, childlike in its curiosity.

"I will not leave you, because I cannot."

"You…you can't? What's stopping you?"

Spock struggled for a moment, uncomfortable with the idea of sharing more but knowing that he had to, for both their sakes. They had been walking on eggshells for far too long.

"If it's some misguided sense of loyalty to your captain-" Kirk began in resignation, but Spock cut him off, horrified that his silence had been misinterpreted.

"No, Jim, it is much more than that."

"Then just say it," Kirk said wearily, remaining in his slumped position. "I think I can take whatever you decide to throw at me now."

"Allow me to show you," Spock said instead, relieved when Kirk nodded.

The view screen before them flickered, and suddenly Kirk found himself looking through Spock's eyes, the ornaments and furniture telling him that he was in the Room of Requirement.

Slowly, almost unnoticed, Spock lowered the remainder of his mental shields, allowing Kirk to feel his emotions as he viewed his memories.

Kirk watched as Spock heard his confession of love, watched as his alternate self smiled tentatively. He felt Spock's leaping elation at the words, the pure unchecked joy that coursed through his body even as the Vulcan averted his eyes.

But the feeling was quickly smothered by a barrage of other emotions. Self-loathing for the misery he was about to cause this human. Inadequacy. But worst of all was the longing and the overriding sense of pain, both of them combined almost too much to stand.

Pain, Kirk realised, because all that McCoy had told him about Spock had been true, and not just something to take the edge off the rejection. Pain because Spock was about to do something that made every fibre of his being scream in protest.

And suddenly, Kirk knew.

The memories rushed by faster now, his face smiling at Spock many times over, affection accompanying the memories.

Until finally they halted, and Kirk saw with a deep sense of shock his own body lying in Spock's arms, unconscious, blood soaking his face under his nose.

But what shook him to the core was the fear, the desperation to get this man to the hospital wing before it was too late, before he was lost forever.

And all the while was the mantra running through the memory, the words crushing in force. A simple two word sentence. A desperate command.

_Don't die. Don't die. Don't die._

Fear, as Kirk's breath hitched in his chest and Spock almost tripped up the stairs, forgetting in his haste the trick step. Kirk's arm flapped limply as Spock righted himself and continued, at a run now, all but pushing students out the way.

_Don't die don't die don't die_.

He laid Kirk down on the bed, almost not letting do before practical logic told him that he had to, so that Pomfrey could save him.

_Don'tdiedon'tdie_-

"Alright," Kirk said, interrupting the memory. His hands shook as the images stopped and he turned himself to Spock, who stood by his side.

The shields were still down, and as Kirk gazed into Spock's eyes, he saw and felt around him the love the Vulcan bore for him, always existing but never vocalised. Unacknowledged until now.

"It's true," Kirk murmured.

Spock graced him with a small smile as he gently laid a hand on Kirk's shoulder. "Vulcans do not lie."

And suddenly, Kirk was relieved.

He had found, after all this time, true love. Love for him, James Kirk, not the man people thought he should be or wished he was. He'd found acceptance for all his faults, all his insecurities.

And it didn't matter that the man standing before him was a Vulcan, one of the most private species in the Federation. It didn't matter, because Spock accepted him, was willing to open his most private self up to Kirk, to draw him back to himself.

Because Spock had shown Kirk what he had been unable to see all along. He had something worth living for, and it was enough.

A low hum announced the ship's awakening, and Kirk stood up, the air of acceptance gone as he took the hand on his shoulder and held it in his own.

He walked over to the navigation console, drawing Spock – his saviour, his reason to live – with him. He pressed a button and smiled.

Spock raised an eyebrow, the fact that he could do so even in a mind meld sending a wave of amusement and affection through Kirk. "Fascinating."

"I think we've established that my mind is full of surprises," Kirk murmured, smiling properly for what felt like the first time in years.

"Then you will return?"

Kirk nodded. "For you."

The ship hummed as the engines clicked into gear and Kirk squeezed Spock's hand gently, happiness becoming a part of him, right down to his very bones.

The view screen began to grow brighter as the ship moved forwards, the black of space going through the various shades of blue before becoming blindingly white, almost painful to look at.

Spock squeezed Kirk's hand back, his skin comfortingly warm and real after the loneliness of Kirk's mind. It was anchoring. "We must go into the light, Jim."

Kirk's lips twitched. "That's always supposed to be a bad idea," he quipped. "They say that if you go into the light, you tend to die."

"I assure you that I shall not allow that to happen," Spock said seriously.

Kirk chuckled. "You'll come with me?"

Spock nodded. "I would not do otherwise," he said simply, and Kirk's heart lurched again as they both took a step forwards, side by side.

The light engulfed him, enveloping him from every side, and although Kirk could no longer see the Vulcan, he could feel him at the edges of his awareness, beckoning him closer.

Sound began to drift to him slowly, horribly distorted, as though something was between the sound and his ear.

"He's coming around…"

The light dimmed and he felt grateful for the small mercy. The fierce thumping in his head began to escalate, and he briefly wondered if someone was hacking away at his nerves with a sledgehammer.

Every part of him felt as though it was on fire and he whimpered slightly, inwardly cursing. A hypo was coming for his neck, he knew, and he flinched, bracing himself for the impact.

Instead he felt gentle hands, comfortingly hot and soothing against his nerves, lifting him slowly up into a half-sitting position. He felt something touch his lips and opened his mouth obediently, not knowing what the liquid pouring down his throat was.

Belatedly, he realised that he had yet to open his eyes – he had managed to forget.

Concentrating, he succeeded in bringing the world into view, though it was slightly blurry, as if he was seeing it without glasses.

Spock was the one holding him up, his expression drawn into one of concern and relief, for once not hindered by the usual barriers and masks, reminding him of his mind meld image.

McCoy was hovering next to him, his expression equally worried; his face seemed to have gained about ten lines in the short while he had been unconscious, and Kirk realised for the first time that Spock had never told him how he was.

He continued to drink the potion held at his lips, recognising that the hand holding it belonged to a Healer he did not know, the face clinical and detached.

_It must have been bad_, Kirk thought as he felt the almost agonising pain recede to a dull throb. Bones would kill him.

Finally the potion was taken away and Kirk was eased back onto the bed as the Healer turned to McCoy. "I've done all I can. The rest is up to him now. I've left a list of instructions with Poppy Pomfrey – she'll know what to do."

For once, McCoy did not bristle at being told how to take care of a patient. "Thank you," he murmured instead.

_Definitely bad_, Kirk decided.

He cleared his throat once the Healer had left, surprised at how much effort this simple task took. "I've missed something," he whispered, wincing at the weakness of his voice.

"That was a friend of Dumbledore," McCoy explained, nodding his head in the direction of the departed Healer. "He won't report us, and neither will his assistant."

_More than one of them_, Kirk noted. _Catastrophic, then._

Kirk nodded, relieved. "What happened?"

"As you have no doubt surmised," Spock began, "we have escaped from the Ministry holding cells and are currently 'on the run'-"

McCoy muttered something under his breath. Spock ignored him.

"As we were exiting the Ministry, Mr Avery decided to utilise your body as a shield, leading to you being left vulnerable to attack."

"What Mr Concise is trying to say," McCoy interrupted, "is that you were hit by several strong spells. Some of them at once. As you can probably tell, it's wrecked havoc with your nervous system."

"I wondered what that was."

McCoy snorted, and Kirk decided he'd missed the sound. "What about Avery?"

"He escaped," Spock informed him.

"Professor Snape?"

McCoy and Spock exchanged hesitant glances, and Kirk was instantly on alert.

"What?"

"He's…not doing very well," McCoy replied. "It seems he's been run down for a while, having to go between the Death Eaters and Hogwarts. Obviously," he added, looking exasperated, "the man doesn't know how to lighten a workload by asking for help. The spell that Shacklebolt cast on him took a while to have its full effect – he fought it long enough to get back here from Voldemort's headquarters, but after that his body just gave in."

"Where is he now?"

"In the room next door," McCoy replied.

"How badly hurt is he?"

"He's in a coma. A deep one." McCoy looked grim. "Given his condition, the odds aren't pretty. Spock's volunteered to try to pull him back," McCoy added him when Spock remained quiet, "but we aren't sure if it'll be enough."

Kirk stared at his First Officer, astounded. "You can do that?"

"I believe you are evidence of that," Spock replied quietly.

"Is it safe?"

"Perfectly," Spock replied.

"When do you plan on starting?" Kirk asked.

"As soon as possible," McCoy supplied.

"I have to see him," Kirk decided, trying and failing to sit up.

"You can't, Jim," McCoy sighed as Kirk's head flopped back onto the pillow. "Aside from the fact you can't move, only Healers have been allowed in his room since he arrived here."

"I will ensure that he recovers," Spock assured him.

Kirk raged at himself as he felt his treacherous eyelids begin to close. He struggled, but was unable to fight the heaviness of his body, the leaden feel of it as it sank into the mattress.

"You've drugged this," he slurred.

McCoy snorted, not looking amused. "I've had you in my care enough times to know that you don't lie still," he retorted. "I asked for it to be spiked with Dreamless Sleep, but apparently even that doesn't knock you out quickly enough."

Kirk yawned, hating himself for doing so when another man lay unconscious in the house, possibly permanently comatose. "I hate you…"

"Tell someone who uses medicine morally…" he could have sworn he heard McCoy retort, but his mind was lost in the dark once more before this could register, the feel of Spock's hand on his arm lingering long after his sight faded.

oOo

Scott stood on the transporter pad aboard the Enterprise, Chekov his only companion. The boy was a computer whizz kid and the only one likely to help Scott break into the ship's transporter controls in order to bring them back. They both had earpieces connecting them to the Enterprise, where both Sulu and Uhura were ready with back up and language assistance.

Around the room stood a large security squad, all poised to apprehend the prisoners once they were beamed back, and place them back in the brig before they could cause any trouble. Scott only hoped that Star Fleet decided to come to their aid in defeating Ehlette's ship because, loathe as he was to admit it, the Enterprise had taken a serious beating.

"Are ye ready, lad?"

Chekov nodded, his breathing slightly faster due to the adrenalin and apprehension coursing through his system. "Aye sair."

Scott flashed him a reassuring smile before turning to the Ensign operating the transporter controls. "Ye need tae beam us intae the living area," Scott told him. "We'll be able tae get tae the brig from there."

The man nodded. "Yes sir."

Scott acknowledged the man's reply and turned to the Security team. "Have yer phases on stun and aimed at the pad when ye get the signal alerting ye to transportation," he told them. "Stun the prisoners on sight, before they can try tae escape."

"Aye sir."

"Right," Scott announced, straightening. "Energize."

The familiar tingle engulfed his body and he felt himself being tugged gently towards another destination, the scenery dissolving around him to be replaced with a misshapen corridor, no one but Chekov in sight.

"Alright lad," he murmured, "the brig should be at the end of this corridor, if the plans are accurate."

Chekov held his phaser in front of him, and Scott followed suit, cursing himself for momentarily forgetting his training. Once an engineer, he thought wryly, remembering what his trainer had told him, always an engineer.

They weaved their way past doors and quarters, all of them protruding into the corridor, almost as though the entire complex was made of bubble wrap. Some doors were still flung open from the rush to get to stations, the furniture just visible in the darkened quarters.

Everything was as the plan said it would be, but he was still wary of new security measures, new alarms which he did not know about.

Sure enough, they rounded a corner and encountered two guards, both of them impossibly tall, both of them so muscled that their clothing appeared to struggle not to come off. They could not have been more intimidating if they had tried.

Wordlessly, they fired at the intruders, who leapt back around the corner to take cover. Holding Chekov back so the young Russian would not have a chance to get injured, Scott stuck his head and shoulders briefly around the corner, fired twice, and managed to fell one of the guards. His fellow, who had been slightly quicker, danced behind another corner.

Scott turned to Chekov. "There should be a door a few meters down there, lad," he pointed at the way they had just come. "Ye need tae cover it in case they call for help."

"Aye sair," Chekov replied, turning around and pointing his phaser at the door, which mercifully remained closed for the moment.

Sparks began to fly off the wall and Scott knew that the guard was firing at them again. Gathering his breath in one small gasp, Scott repeated the earlier process, knocking the guard flat on his back, but not before he felt a stinging pain in his gun arm, causing him to allow the weapon to clatter to the floor.

Issuing a short but quiet cry of pain, he bent forwards to pick it up, absently noticing the small drops of blood which fell onto the floor.

"Meester Scott?" Chekov asked anxiously, his attention momentarily distracted from the door.

"I'll be fine, lad," Scott told him, his teeth bared against the pain as he ripped a piece of clothing off the dead body of his attacker and tied it around his wound. "I'll stay together until we get back, do nae worry."

Chekov looked doubtful of this as he stared into Scott's pained face, but did not argue, knowing that they had little time. "Vich vay now, sair?"

Scott nodded forwards, indicating the turn beyond the guards. "Straight ahead."

"Sair?"

Scott ignored Chekov's confusion, creeping forwards, gun raised using his good hand, noticing that it wavered slightly. If he'd had a choice, he would have been shot in the other arm – not that he _did_ have a choice, he thought. It seemed fate was determined to weaken his only form of self defence.

His musings were brought up short as he reached the wall, and he found what he was looking for. A small button sat tucked out of sight near the floor, its red colour indicating that the hidden room beyond held prisoners. Bracing himself for the revealing of the less-than-sane prisoners originally from his ship, he reached out and pressed the button.

To his dismay, a hidden panel slid aside, revealing instead a computer, demanding an access code.

"I can do that," Chekov said quietly, glancing at the screen, "but I need help vith the language."

"I hear you, Pavel," Uhura said quietly over the earpiece. "What does it say?"

Chekov squinted at the display and repeated the words as best he could, thankful that it was not in alien symbols. "Or vehntahr l'ferr, puhr l'ghins."

There was a brief pause filled with the tapping of fingers on keys before Uhura replied. "To open the door, enter code."

"Can ye bypass that, lad?"

Chekov nodded silently, fingers already gravitating towards the metal panel of the machine, finding appropriate wires. After a moment of fiddling, another display appeared on the screen.

"L'ghins vrih."

"Code correct," Uhura supplied.

Shortly after this pronouncement, the door slid open to reveal a single cage, completely square, and Scott resisted the urge to chuckle. Within the cage, squashed together so that they could barely move and wearing expressions of equal contempt, were the abducted prisoners.

"Sair?"

Scott shook his head. "The Gaaran hierarchy," he explained as he made his way into the room. "Circles for rich people, squares for the poor."

"What are you doing here?" The so-called Dark Lord questioned abruptly, having caught sight of them.

"Rescuing ye," Scott replied shortly, lifting up his phaser and keeping it trained on them.

"Rescuing?" The woman spat, eyes narrowing. "Why would we need help from you, Muggle?"

"Take a look around!" Scott said furiously, keeping his voice down as best he could. "These people might kill you, we won't."

"Muggles are all the same," the woman countered, tilting her chin arrogantly.

Scott barely stopped himself from growling in frustration. "Do ye really want tae take that chance?" Without waiting for an answer, he opened a channel to the transporter room on his communicator. "Enterprise, Scott here. Four tae beam up from the cell."

"Aye sir," a slightly muffled voice replied. Seconds later, the self-proclaimed wizards disappeared, looking slightly shocked.

An alarm went off, and Scott cursed.

"Enterprise, beam us up now!"

Static filled the communicator, allowing only a few words through. "Damaged...need...only one..."

Scott cursed again and lifted the communicator closer to his lips. "Beam up Chekov."

"Sair-"

"No arguing," Scott argued, his gaze full of steel. "Beam him up now, Enterprise!"

Mouth still hanging open in protest, Chekov disappeared, leaving Scott all alone aboard a ship full of people employed by the woman who wanted to kill him.


	40. Darkness

**40. Darkness. **

Scott glanced around him quickly, the alarm blaring in his ears and drowning out all other sound. He would not be beamed out form here, that was for sure. Guards' footsteps could already be heard thundering down the corridor and it would take the Enterprise a few moments to allow the damaged transporter to regroup itself. He was officially alone, and about to be caught.

Thinking quickly, he took cover against the wall next to the door, back pressed flatly against it, phaser held out of sight from anyone who could happen to see him. He quickly set it to stun, having no wish to kill anyone on the ship. He didn't need more lives on his conscience.

The footsteps thumped louder, backed up by the wailing of a siren, and he wondered if Ehlette was coming with them. He had no more time to consider – a guard hurried into the room, weapon held before him as though itching to shoot someone down, and stopped in shock. His fellow ran into him, knocking them both forwards, and the door closed behind them.

No one else was coming, and Scott resisted the urge to sigh in relief.

Before he could decide otherwise, he lifted his gun and aimed it at the two Gaarans before him, glad that the alarm at least drowned out his muffled movements. Two jets of light later, and the officers lay unconscious on the floor, eyes still wearing an expression of shock and wonder at how the prisoners managed to escape.

He had no time to lose.

Moving forwards quickly yet quietly, he dragged one of the guards out of sight of the door and began to strip him of his uniform. Scott did not have the classically Gaaran features, but at a glance the uniform could save his life, if only he could keep moving fast enough to not be seen properly.

Instead of discarding his own uniform, he placed it on the Gaaran, slightly surprised that they were roughly the same size. The trousers came up to the Gaarans ankles, but at a quick glance it might not be noticeable. He was counting on it.

Taking the gun the officer held in his slack grip, he pocketed his own, keeping it in a place he could easily reach, and slinked out the room, muscles tensed for flight.

The door closed behind him with a quiet hiss, cutting the two unconscious Gaarans off from the world around them. The corridor stretched before him, filled to the ceiling with smoke – the ship was in worse shape than he had imagined. Technicians ran backwards and forwards, tools grasped in their hands as though they were their only lifelines.

Scott set his jaw and walked brusquely down the corridor, desperately hoping that he looked enough like the unconscious crewman to avoid being stopped. Mentally drawing up the blueprints for the average Gaaran battle cruiser, Scott was able to walk confidently through the smoky haze, his vision obscured and hampered but his identity hidden.

A small explosion rocked the ship, sending Scott flying into a wall, the move jolting the wound in his arm. He allowed himself a small hiss of pain, his probing fingers telling him that the wound was still bleeding. He blocked it from his mind, focussing instead on the task of getting out alive.

He pushed himself away from the wall, congratulating the Enterprise on their tenacity. Several more well aimed hits like that, where the Gaaran shielding was weakest, and they might be within sight of an equal fight.

If Star Fleet answered their distress signal, even better – at least in the short run. Scott really didn't want to consider what would happen to them afterwards.

A Gaaran crewman rushed by, long hair flying behind him in his haste to reach his destination. Scott turned around and pretended to inspect a control panel – which actually happened to be spitting out smoke, much to Scott's relief. The footsteps faded away quickly, lost in the rising sound of chaos, the figure disappearing into a cloud of smoke.

Luck was on his side. Gaarans kept their machines and controls in the centre of their spherical ships, the transporter rooms around the outside along with the quarters. Perhaps unluckily for them, they were symbolism enthusiasts. The commanders' quarters and Bridge sat atop the sphere, cargo at the bottom. It made the ship that much easier to navigate, easy to break into. But, to their credit, difficult to hide in. With all the circular walls, there were very few alcoves.

Scott had been lucky in the brig, and even luckier in masquerading as a Gaaran. He only hoped his luck would hold.

Looming out of the smoke before him, Scott could see the door, the lifeline, the entrance to his link home. He reached it in a desperate lurch, his breath coming in harsh puffs, his legs beginning to feel shaky. He could practically feel the blood flowing out of him and dimly wondered if there was a trail of it behind him.

To his immense relief the door opened, apparently programmed to do so in cases of emergency when the crew needed a quick escape.

Scott staggered into the room beyond, the quiet swooshing of the door drowned out as he whipped out his phaser and stunned the only two guards, ducking to avoid their surprised shots before they slumped to the ground.

He surveyed his larger, more alien weapon, noting the alien inscriptions and was grateful he'd used his phaser out of instinct. A death through mistranslation was exactly what he didn't need. He placed it down, no longer needing it to maintain his Gaaran charade.

The control panel for the transporter pads before him were all in Gaaran, as he suspected.

"Uhura?"

Static.

Forcing himself to remain calm, he tried again, raising his voice slightly to be heard over the malfunctioning intercom. "Uhura? Lass?"

No reply.

He allowed himself the small luxury of swearing, forcing himself to remain steady as he regarded the controls before him. They were completely alien; a multicoloured rainbow of confusion spanning long blocks of simple metal. A single screen was set in the middle, glowing green, begging to be investigated.

He squinted through the smoke and spotty vision, finding alien text scrawled before him in the type generated by their computers. Despite having befriended Tohn, he had never learnt any of the language besides pleasantries, having never had the linguistic aptitude.

He mentally cursed himself.

Now, struggling to decipher one button from another, he wished he'd paid more attention to Tohn. If he had, this wouldn't be happening. He wouldn't have cost his friend his sanity, his career, his family pride. But, most important of all, he would not have his sister hot on his trail, bent on a revenge best served with the cold and tasteless flavour of death.

Word after word floated past him, none of them making sense. No helpful diagrams, as used in Star Fleet, illustrated the screen. This gadget was foreigner-proof.

A soft sound caressed his ear and he ducked reflexively, finding cover just as a part of the console exploded.

"You're not going to get away that easily, Monty."

Scott didn't dare move, crouching instead behind his newfound cover, immensely relieved that it created a barrier between them. He spied his discarded Gaaran weapon lying close to him, and snatched it up, forcing to keep his voice neutral. "Ehlette?"

He could practically hear the predatory smirk. "Who else?"

A footstep.

"You really must stop this hair-brained scheme of yours, Monty. It is becoming tiresome. I do enjoy a chase, but this is ridiculous."

"Ye expect me tae just give up?" Scott snapped.

"Naturally. That is what you do, isn't it, give up?"

Scott sidestepped the question. "Yer killing my crew."

Another step.

"Aren't we just brimming with intelligence today?" She asked sweetly, her tone patronising. "Perhaps I shall award you a gold star. I hear you humans enjoy your childish rewards."

"How about my life as a reward?" Scott asked sarcastically.

She ignored him completely, her tone falsely considering. "I remember you having an obsession with sandwiches, Monty. Perhaps that'll be a more appropriate gift than a star."

"This will nae work," Scott told her flatly, his hand tightening on the large alien weapon.

"The just always prevail."

"I know," Scott said, trying to keep his voice level, "that I failed Tohn-"

"Completely."

"-but," he added, ignoring the interruption, "revenge is nae the way tae deal with things. Even when I am dead, Tohn will still be insane." He doesn't dare to add that he thinks she will be, too.

Another step.

"Your death shall bring him solace. It will give him comfort, knowing that the man responsible is no longer at large."

"You mean it will give _you_ comfort," Scott corrected.

"That will be an added bonus."

"And what will ye do when I am dead?" Scott pressed. "Wallow in yer victory? Get back yer family's honour?"

"My, my, don't we learn fast," Ehlette purrs.

"Ye disgraced Gaar," Scott said ruthlessly. "Yehr family name is dishonoured. This is nothing but personal revenge tae make ye feel better for a few minutes. After that, ye will have nae direction or goal. How many more will die tae try tae correct what you saw as wrong?"

Ehlette's voice became hard. "Your little speech is over-zealous and lacks accuracy. Your death shall not last for mere minutes, Monty. It shall last for an eternity."

Another step.

"And when I am done with you, a few more deaths might be in order. A few more lives sacrificed to fulfil another. The future dead will have a purpose, which is more than you ever allowed my dear brother to have. In a way, I am doing them a favour."

Scott snorted. "The court will nae see it that way."

"We shall see."

The sharp scrape of metal against casing, a heavy step forwards. A quiet breath of anticipation, the lungs savouring the moment.

"Your little hiding place is quite useless, Monty. You have no escape."

Scott knew she was right. She stood between him and the only door. Glancing at the larger weapon, he made his decision reluctantly and stood up, coming face to face with the crazed form of Ehlette, a woman he had once loved as his own sister.

The demented eyes danced, taking in Scott's rumpled and blood stained appearance before settling on the gun.

A smirk. "You're surely not going to kill me are you, Monty? I assure you, I have no intention of letting you do that."

"I do nae want tae," Scott admitted truthfully. "I can get ye help-"

Ehlette laughed, the sound striking Scott as unhinged. "I'm afraid it's a little too late for that."

She raised her knife, the blade glittering ominously in Scott's dimming vision. She cocked her head to one side, considering him for a moment, a slow smile spreading across her face.

"I think," she murmured, "that this is going to be fun."

Before Scott could let that statement sink in, she had lunged, swiping at his chest, and he jumped back quickly, the blade giving him a light cut only.

She pouted.

In response, Scott lifted the Gaaran gun and pulled the trigger, knowing he could do nothing else if he wanted to save the lives of the people aboard his ship. She had refused his help, his explanations and his apologies. He wasn't going to let her destroy his crew.

Nothing happened, and Scott frantically pulled the trigger again.

Ehlett laughed at him. "No charge," she explained. "You really should have paid more attention to our language, Monty. The gun's display has been telling you that for a while."

Feeling trapped, Scott shifted his hold on the gun and wielded it as a club, successfully distracting her from the phaser he had in the pocket of his alien uniform.

"You will be no match for me, Monty. I saw your trail here, the little drops of blood. Did you think I wouldn't notice?" She mocked, stepping closer. "The colour of your blood gave you away, Monty. You might as well have advertised your location."

She twirled the knife between her fingers, eyes never leaving Scott.

"Red blood is so beautiful," she said softly. "Such a perfect colour to speak of violence."

She stopped twirling the knife, her eyes becoming serious.

"Ever since that day," she told him, "when you betrayed my brother, red has been my favourite colour."

She lashed forwards after a mere heartbeat of silence, her moves frenzied in their intensity but speaking of years of training. As Scott dodged lunge after lunge, every breath screaming fire through his lungs, he tried not to think of how long she must have been planning this moment.

He barely escaped a well aimed jab at the heart.

Swinging the gun as a club, he tried clumsily to knock the weapon out of her hand, his movements weak and slow from loss of blood. She avoided the blow with almost embarrassing ease, and Scott fell to one knee, brought down by his own momentum.

With a feral cry of victory, she had pounced on top of him, knife raised to stab him, his hand desperately clenching her wrist, keeping it inches from his skin.

Her warm breath blew into his face, down his own mouth as he gasped for air, and he could smell her alien scent, transporting him to another time, another place, where he had sat beside her on a sofa as she showed him Gaaran cinema.

Feeling the cold floor against his back, unrelenting, marking his future grave, he dropped the alien gun, scrabbling in his pockets for the phaser, sliding it out from beneath her crushing weight.

Her eyes widened as she felt the movement and he took that moment of distraction to pull the trigger, his arm giving out as she collapsed on top of him, knife clattering harmlessly to his side.

He pushed her off, groaning at the pain flashing through his arm, and rolled out from beneath her. Her gaze was vacant. Unfocused.

To his immense relief, she showed none of the all consuming hate she had allowed to fester for years, none of the adrenalin from the fight. She looked almost innocent, almost normal.

He gently reached out a hand to feel for a pulse, finding none.

A single round black mark on her uniform showed her cause of death – a heavy stun to her heart. It would never beat again, and Scott was grateful he had at least managed to give her a quick death.

Even if he'd wanted her to live.

A roaring in his ears reminded him that he needed to move and he forced himself over to the transporter controls, hitting the first red button he laid eyes on, neither caring nor knowing if it was the right one.

The transporter pad sparkled to life and he crawled onto it thankfully, letting the comforting beam envelope him and take away his pain.

Now he was floating, his thoughts scattered across atoms, and he was neither here nor there, alive nor dead, until he felt something solidifying against his right side, telling him he was safe.

He barely had time to recognise the brig on the Enterprise and call out weakly for help before he passed out, the pain receding to be replaced by a comforting darkness.

He drifted in and out for what felt like eternity, the process an endless cycle. He hovered in limbo, dull echoes reaching his ears, sometimes a light shining before his eyelids only to be swallowed back up by a starless night.

He was in space, wasn't he? He was outside the ship, making repairs, he thought. Maybe he'd lost his spacesuit...but he was still breathing, he was sure of it. And where was the ship? It had been there a moment ago...

But now it was gone. He couldn't even hear anything to suggest where it might be. Perhaps it was cloaked. But...cloaks did not exist in the Federation, only in the opposing Empires. He knew they were being developed, but did not know how far along the process was.

"Meester Scott?"

He was sure that sound was important. He knew Scott. He knew the voice, and the yellowish blur that came with it. He tried to latch onto it but the darkness yanked it away abruptly.

Space was cruel, he decided.

But there were no stars. There should be, if he was in space. Little pinpricks of light – those floating orbs miles and miles away that no one could reach, no matter how high you jumped or how good you were at standing on the tips of your toes...

"Meester Scott?"

The voice was back. It was back, and so was the yellow – becoming more and more defined, brighter and brighter. He groaned, and the dazzling white light around the yellow dimmed, a red shape joining it.

Two colours?

"Scotty?"

Blearily, he began to focus and the faces of Chekov and Uhura swam into view, wearing twin expressions of concern.

Scott coughed and instantly found a bottle of water pressed to his lips by Doctor M'Benga, a soft hand tilting his heavy head so that he could drink a few sips before being lowered back onto the pillow.

He tried to sit up but his leaden limbs refused to let him and he accepted this with a twinge of annoyance. He had work to do.

"How long?"

"12 hours," M'Benga answered softly. "You lost quite a bit of blood, Mister Scott. I'm surprised you managed to get back at all."

Scott grimaced. "Someone has tae fix the engines."

M'Benga grinned at him before nodding to the other two officers, who were chuckling in relief. "I'll leave you to it, but no more than five minutes – he's still very weak." He walked out the room.

"How..." Scott's voice trailed off weakly and he cursed himself.

"How did ve find you?" Chekov asked quietly.

At Scott's small nod, Uhura continued. "The science station on the Bridge told us something had managed to beam through the remainder of our shields and materialised in the cell the prisoners were kept in originally. Sulu sent along a security team to investigate."

"The found you there," Chekov added, "and called the medics. Doctor M'Benga managed to patch you up-"

"With difficulty," Uhura said.

"-and here ve are now," Chekov concluded. "Sair...how did you operate the transporters?"

Scott attempted a shrug but winced at the shooting pain along his torso. "I pressed a big red button at random. I could nae read the language."

"And you couldn't contact me," Uhura deduced.

Scott nodded. "Star Fleet?"

"They sent the _Trident_ to help us," Uhura explained, sighing. "The Gaaran ship was left dead in space and the crewmembers were arrested..."

There was a slight pause before Chekov spoke again.

"Sair...did you...?" He trailed off, looking reluctant to phrase the question bluntly.

Scott nodded. "I killed Ehlette."

Somehow, Scott got the impression that this did not surprise the officers before them. He turned to more neutral ground. "The repairs?"

"Ve are undervay, sir," Chekov replied promptly, glad at the change in subject. "As soon as ve are finished, Star Fleet vants us to go to the nearest base to avait trial."

Scott grimaced. "Until then?"

"The _Trident_ is to superwise us, sair."

Scott groaned, closing his eyes briefly against the news.

Uhura snorted, seeming to share his sentiment. "Sulu is on the Bridge now, dealing with a _very_ angry Admiral Komack. He wanted to be here," she added, "but the Admiral didn't show any sign of stopping his rant soon. He said he'd be down later."

"I do nae envy the lad."

Both Uhura and Chekov grimaced in agreement, obviously having had a small taster of what Sulu was currently going through. Against his wishes Scott felt his eyelids begin to droop, too heavy to hold up any longer.

As if on cue, Doctor M'Benga entered the room. "Five minutes is up," he informed them quietly.

Chekov and Uhura stood, though they looked reluctant to leave. Scott barely heard their promises to return; the dark void already dragging him into its depths.

oOo

Blackness shrouded the landscape around him, showing no sign of letting up. The sky was starless, a single moon cast feeble light on the barren land, lighting it just enough to allow Spock to navigate through it. His feet crunched on the frozen ground, the sound shattering the stillness around him. A cold breeze blew almost through him with no direction, seeming to have no purpose except to unnerve the visitor.

The horizon loomed before him, flat and unpromising, and Spock began to wonder if he was too late, if the owner of this mind had already retreated beyond reach. Gathering himself, Spock began to climb over the rubble littering the area around him, but could see no structures. There was no suggestion of how the rubble got there, just that it existed.

It was like walking through a land of ghosts. He kept thinking he heard voices, the tones unfamiliar yet familiar, trying to penetrate the blackness. Yet every single one of them failed, and with each attempt the wind seemed to grow colder.

Spock quickened his pace, thankful for his sharp Vulcan sight which prevented him from becoming lost. There was no point of reference here, nothing against which to measure his progress, no milestones. He could have been walking for an hour, a day, and he would not know the difference. His usually infallible sense of time had deserted him as soon as he entered the other's mind.

He tried not to let that fact unnerve him.

He stepped over a particularly large boulder, wondering not for the first time how such objects could have come to exist there. As he navigated through a particularly scattered mine-field of rocks, the moon was his only companion, seeming to glitter at him. It hovered there, distant yet close, the only thing successful in at least partially penetrate the darkness.

The boulders turned to shingle, and he was standing at the edge of water, appearing inky black and slick like oil in the moonlight. It made not a sound, did nothing to disturb the darkness surrounding it. It was almost as though Spock had imagined it, but it was there nevertheless. He gently pushed a piece of shingle into the water, watching as it rippled soundlessly, stilling almost immediately. The river was unperturbed to outside disturbance, showing no sign of what lay beneath.

Acting on a hunch – something that, as a Vulcan, he would never admit to but conceded that Kirk was having a larger influence on him than he thought – he followed the river, careful not to step in it. It was the only sign of life around, and he could only hope it led somewhere more enlightening.

Perhaps it would lead to Snape.

The cold air seemed to lessen slightly as he continued to follow the river, and Spock was grateful for the additional warmth, no matter how little it might be. The shingle too began to thin out, giving way to something softer, something less crunchy.

Spock paused, bending down to peer at the ground, noting that a sallow type of grass seemed to be growing there, untouched by sunlight. He dimly wondered how it could possibly survive, whether this darkness was a permanent aspect of this mind or just caused by the physical condition. Whatever the case, the grass was unhealthy, short.

He straightened back up slowly, walking forwards warily. Blackness of mind combined with the black clothes habitually worn by the Potions Master created a suspicion in Spock's mind. Yet without any information and only speculation at hand, he could only guess, a practice which, despite promotion on the part of his human comrades, he did not like to indulge in.

Black shapes loomed in front of him, spiking into the dark sky, cutting into the moon, which seemed never to move no matter where Spock walked. Trees began to come into view, twisted and gnarled as only trees out of ghost stories could be. They bent and crouched, as though they had not moved in decades. No leaves graced their branches – they were in a permanent state of winter.

They were dead.

Yet somehow they stood, and Spock knew without having to question his conclusion that he had to get through them and the barrier they created. The branches were intertwining, barely any gaps allowing entry, and Spock had to admire the craftsmanship of such a structure despite its implications. Clearly they had lain undisturbed for years, either no one able to or caring enough to break it down, and so they had grown and multiplied.

Spock braced himself and then plunged into the immovable mass before him, using his own psychic energy to strengthen this physical representation of himself as he struggled through sharp branches, cutting through his clothing almost like knives. But he was not dissuaded, instead ploughing on despite the pain.

Above him, the moon twinkled in approval.

Branches clawed at him, scrabbled at his face, tugged at his limbs, tripping him. Spock fell to the floor heavily, hearing a dim ripping sound as one of his sleeves was torn off. His face was pressed into damp ground, the lumps of tree roots rising beneath him, creating an uneven surface. He could smell decay, the stench of something long dead, long abandoned, and this only served to strengthen his resolve.

Ignoring the razor sharp edges around him, he heaved himself to his feet, using a nearby trunk to steady himself as he found his bearings amidst the spider web of neglect. He could see a silhouetted hole ahead of him, set deep into a large, hulking structure, and he headed towards it, some instinct telling him that he would find Snape there.

He broke free of the trees with an abruptness that shocked him, and he tripped over a root that he had not seen, landing heavily on his knees but stopping himself at the last moment from falling onto his face. None of his training could have prepared him for what he had just come through.

Suppressing a very human sigh, he regained his footing for the second time since entering this man's mind, allowing his eyes to take in the sight before him.

A dim light seemed to emerge from the hole, barely strong enough to be seen, muffled by something. Around the hole was a sight he never thought he would see again, surprising him with its presence in this mind.

Hogwarts looked unchanged, as large and solid as ever, but at the same time appearing safe and soft after the tangled woods behind him. It beckoned to him on a subliminal level, drawing him towards it, and he allowed it to. But beneath the aura of safety was an underlying sense of depression, as though the mind did not want the building to be there but had grudgingly accepted it. The moon was brighter than ever here, and had moved for the first time to hover over one of the towers, looking completely at home in this unnatural position.

Quickly, Spock approached the light, his feet slipping over an expanse of grass that had suddenly become slick with dew, threatening to force him to his knees once more, propelling him away from the sight before him.

After several silent minutes of slipping and sliding he finally reached it. The hole became a cave, wrapped in black roses and thorns, the thin sheen of plants keeping him from getting inside. It was the last barrier he would have to face, he was sure. Inside the cave, he could dimly see a shape, indefinable, curled around something bright.

He wordlessly held out both his hands and parted the roses, uncaring of the thorns which tugged at his flesh, reminding himself that this was not physical pain, that he was in a mind meld. To his surprise, they came away, unravelling row by row until he was faced with a light so bright he could barely see.

Behind him, the woods were illuminated, looking even uglier in the face of the beautiful whiteness before him.

Spock stepped into the cave, feeling himself enveloped in warmth as he did so, and he became finally aware of how truly cold it had been outside, in the breeze. He noticed absently that the air was now still, but these thoughts were unimportant as he stared at the huddled form on the ground.

Severus Snape was lying on the ground, dwarfed by his own billowing robes, pressed against the only source of warmth in the entire expanses of his mind. A single lily forced itself through the rocky ground of the cave, shining its light around the cave, allowing Spock to clearly see every line around the thin man's mouth and eyes, every emotion as it flickered across his face.

Snape looked vulnerable, younger and yet older, as though his mind could not decide which one he was. There was an aura of depression about him, as though he had never been introduced to the concept of happiness, and he seemed not to notice Spock's intrusion even as the Vulcan took a few steps closer.

Spock finally risked speaking, though it felt wrong to shatter the silence of the moment. "Professor?"

Snape jerked to his feet, staring at Spock in a shock that he did not bother to hide. Or perhaps he was unable – there were no defences in a mind meld. For several long moments, silence stretched between them, tense and awkward, before Snape broke it.

"What are you doing here?"

The caustic snap was gone from the smooth voice, the sneer absent from the lips. Instead, the human sounded mechanical, dead, as though he was automatically going through the reactions expected of him.

Spock risked another step forwards, noticing that Snape seemed not to react to it. "You require healing, Professor."

Snape finally flinched, something unfathomable dancing through his eyes. "I need no help," he said quietly, voice heavy with some emotion Spock did not recognise.

Spock did not move. "I must contradict you, Professor."

Snape winced again. "Don't call me that." He seemed to avoid meeting Spock's eyes, his demeanour completely contrasting with the severe Potions Master that Hogwarts was used to. "I should not be at Hogwarts – I should not be a professor."

"For what purpose should I forgo your title?"

Snape seemed to struggle with himself for several moments, apparently debating whether or not it was safe to tell Spock, but when he finally spoke, it was not what Spock expected. It was as though the man was trying to rationalise something, or to understand it.

"You are the first to come here."

Spock's eyebrows furrowed. "To the cave?"

Snape nodded, eyes slightly hooded. "Yes..." there were a few more brief moments of silence before he spoke again. "No one has managed it before. They always wait for the trees to thin out," he explained, as though this made perfect sense. "But I can't let the trees move..."

For the second time that day, Spock felt out of his depth. "May I ask why?" He asked quietly.

Snape looked at him, surprised. "You are asking me permission?"

"It is your mind," Spock reminded him gently, trying not to push him into anything.

"If the trees move," Snape answered, "the light is visible. Hogwarts is visible."

"You are afraid that Voldemort-"

Snape seemed to shrink even more and there was a soft thudding sound, forcing Spock into silence. "Do not say that name," Snape whispered.

"I apologise," Spock said, inclining his head slightly. "You are afraid that he will discover Lily."

Snape seemed to freeze, his posture turning as rigid as stone, and he stared at Spock as though seeing him for the first time. "You know?"

Spock shook his head. "A hypothesis. We noticed that, while you consistently insult James Potter, you have made no reference to his wife, Lily Potter." He nodded at the lone flower in the cave. "Mind melds can be symbolic," he explained.

"She should not have married Potter."

Spock had no idea what to say to that, not having much expertise in emotional matters, and instead surveyed the man before him. Both occupants of the cave became lost in thought, silently weighing up the advantages and disadvantages of further pursuing the conversation.

"Have you visited Spinner's End?"

Spock shook his head, unsurprised that the question was unrelated to the conversation as of yet. "Negative."

Snape nodded once, something tugging his lips downwards. "I saw her there," he explained, "and nothing was the same ever again. She was sitting by the river..." he seemed to become lost in memories, forgetting for a moment that Spock was there.

"The river leading here," Spock deduced out loud, letting Snape know that he had come to the conclusion he was meant to.

Snape nodded again.

"It is surrounded by rubble," Spock added, hoping to nudge the man into conversation. He needed to know how to convince Snape to come back to the world of the living.

"I don't want to remember Spinner's End," Snape said simply. "I reached out because of her, but nothing worked."

Spock paused to absorb this. "You knew her at Hogwarts."

"She was the only one to talk to me."

And suddenly, the presence of the castle made sense. It had been more of a home to Snape than Spinner's End – the one place he could see Lily everyday, presumably without the troubles that his household home carried for him. But the castle was held there reluctantly, as though the memory of it was not entirely good.

"She stopped after I insulted her heritage," Snape explained as though he had read Spock's thoughts. "There was no one to defend me from Potter and his idiotic friends after that."

"You protect Mister Potter because of her," Spock stated, his mind whirring.

Snape seemed to come back to himself. "Why am I telling you this?" He questioned, apparently to himself, but Spock felt the need to answer anyway.

"I am the first to reach the cave."

The human had no answer to that, but continued to stare at the flower, his mind on other things. "I know why you are here," he said after a pause. "You wish to drag me back."

"You are needed."

Snape snorted. "I am needed only for the war, nothing else. Albus can find himself another spy."

He would never admit it later, least of all not to McCoy, but Spock took a wild stab in the dark, hoping that he hit the centre of the problem. "And your debt to Lily?"

Snape winced at the name. "It will be left unfulfilled."

"If you wish to atone," Spock said quietly, allowing his human emotions to lead him, "you must return. If you wish to right the wrongs which you did her, you are needed alive."

Snape did not look up. "I will consider it."

Knowing that this was the best he would get from the man, Spock nodded and turned around, making his way back out of the self-hating mind, hoping that he had made enough of an impression to save the man's life.

"Spock?"

Light was shining on his eyes, Spock realised, and he was no longer in the dark. He could feel the thin frame of a face beneath his fingers, and opened his eyes to see his hands on Snape's meld points.

"Leonard," he answered, his voice slightly hoarse.

"How did it go?"

"I do not know," he said wearily, not removing his eyes from the pale, still form before him. "The success of my endeavours are entirely dependent upon the Professor."

He heard the scraping sound of a chair being dragged towards him and a soft thud as McCoy sat down nearby. "Well? What happened in there?"

"He is extremely closed off," Spock replied mechanically, finally turning to face the surgeon. "It appears that he is afraid to allow people to be close to him."

McCoy glanced at the man lying next to them, his expression becoming sympathetic but curious. "Why's that?"

Spock dithered for a moment, and McCoy returned his focus to him.

"Spock, I'm a trained Doctor. It's my job to help people, even when the wounds aren't physical. I could help him."

"Very well," the First Officer said, glad at least that Snape could not hear the conversation between them. "You will recall our theory regarding Mrs Lily Potter?" At McCoy's nod, he continued. "From what I comprehend, he harboured emotions of great strength for her."

"You mean he loved her?" McCoy asked quietly.

"I believe so."

"Oh God...and James Potter married her."

"In addition," Spock reminded him, "she is no longer alive. She was murdered by Voldemort – he showed great fear and remorse when I referenced him in the meld."

"He was a Death Eater before she died."

"That is my hypothesis, yes."

"And her death turned him against Voldemort," McCoy continued to murmur, his eyes rooted to Snape, who remained unconscious and unaware that he was the topic of discussion.

"He is attempting to atone for his sins."

McCoy turned sharply to regard Spock. "What sins?"

"I can only assume that he aided, unintentionally, her death in some way. It would explain why he now possesses the role of spy for Professor Dumbledore."

"And why he protects Harry," McCoy murmured. "Oh God...this is a mess. He's obviously been feeling guilty for this for years..."

Spock nodded. "That is the motivation behind his cold exterior, I believe. He does not wish to form emotional attachments."

"Oh God..." McCoy muttered.

"Indeed."

"No," McCoy whispered, staring past Spock and at the bed, where Snape was beginning to stir, "I mean – you did it. He's waking up."


	41. He's Back

**41. He's Back.**

For several days, Madam Pomfrey came to Grimmauld Place to check on the two patients, bringing with her both an abundance of potions and advice for McCoy, instructing him to take care of them where he could. With Umbridge on the rampage, she was having more and more students coming to her complaining of cuts and sores. As long as there was a qualified doctor to look after Kirk and Snape, she was confident in leaving them alone, even more so when they began to regain their strength.

McCoy was beginning to wonder who was more stubborn. Both men refused to sit still and simply recover – they had to battle tooth and nail to be up and about again. McCoy admitted that Snape, as Potions Master and spy for the Order, had a good enough reason to want to recover quickly, but Kirk did not. It was almost as though they were simply going out of their way to annoy the surgeon, trying to see how far they could push him.

Right now, it was Snape who was pushing him too far.

"I'm trying to help you, you overgrown curtain haired bat!"

Snape currently stood at the foot of his bed, looking as menacing as he possibly could dressed as he was in black pyjamas that Pomfrey had brought round – and McCoy grudgingly admitted that it was actually a pretty effective technique. It would have been even more effective, McCoy reflected, if the man hadn't been visibly shaking from the effort of standing unassisted so soon in his recovery.

"I do not need help," Snape hissed, his voice dangerously quiet.

McCoy, by contrast, was getting louder and louder. "You nearly died," McCoy shouted, "you can barely stand up, you're shaking like a leaf and yet you _still_ tell me you don't need help? Good God man, take a look at yourself!"

Snape raised his eyebrows. "I'm quite familiar with my condition," he replied coldly, "after having to put up with it for days."

"Then you can either get your ass back into bed or let me help!" McCoy snapped. "I'm sure I can find a bedpan around here somewhere, if you want to go back to doing it the hard way!"

Snape allowed himself a small cringe. "I have no desire to use _that_," he spat.

"Well you're going to unless you listen to me," McCoy retorted.

"Having you assist me is hardly on my list of things to do."

"I don't exactly enjoy the idea either," McCoy snapped, "but I'm a Doctor and you're my patient – it's my _job_. I've done it many times before and you can either accept the fact I'm helping or use the pan!"

Snape simply crossed his arms, his stance unyielding.

"Good Lord," he groaned, running his hand through his hair, all shouting gone. "I never thought I'd say this, but you're actually worse than Jim."

"I have work to do, McCoy, I cannot afford to sit around and let myself be mollycoddled."

McCoy threw his hands into the air. "Fine," he drawled in annoyance. "Go ahead. But if you collapse and manage to drown yourself in the toilet bowl, don't come crying to me!"

Snape smirked at him. "I doubt I would be in any condition to, if I manage to 'drown myself' in the toilet."

Before McCoy could even think of a reply to the unexpected humour, Snape had disappeared through the door to the bathroom, footsteps shuffled but strong enough to reassure McCoy that he would be alright. The door creaked open to admit Kirk, pushing McCoy even further into a bad mood.

"Damn it Jim!"

Kirk blinked. "I only wanted to see how he was doing."

"I _told_ you how he was doing! Will you _get back in your own room?_"

Kirk rolled his eyes at him. "Bones, you're getting power-mad."

McCoy sputtered for a moment. "_Power-mad_?" His mouth flapped for a bit. "POWER-MAD?"

"Perhaps," Spock murmured from outside, having overheard their argument through the still open door, "you should not have said that, Jim."

Kirk stared at McCoy's steadily reddening face with something between fascination and horror. "I think you might be right..."

McCoy promptly exploded. "SPOCK!" He roared, stomping into the hallway, ignoring the surprised expressions of both Kirk and the Vulcan. "How did he get out of his room?"

Kirk turned around and watched them in some amusement. "Don't I get a look in on this argument?"

"Do you want to?" McCoy growled.

"Not really..."

"Then shut up." McCoy whirled back to face Spock. "You," he snarled, jabbing the Vulcan in the chest, "were supposed to keep him in there!"

"Affirmative."

Kirk widened his eyes in a frantic attempt to get Spock to say something less infuriating, but it was too late. McCoy was, it appeared, beyond rational thought at this point.

"Then how did you manage to fail? You're a _Vulcan_ damn it – the most over-achieving race in the universe!"

"I am familiar with the concept of a Vulcan being."

"That doesn't answer my question!"

Spock sighed lightly. "I believed that it would be advantageous to his recovery should he be able to partake of light exercise. I believed that it would aid in replenishing his strength-"

McCoy swore, drawing Spock up short, and turned back to Kirk. "Get back in your bed, Jim. Don't make me come over there!"

Kirk dithered for a moment. "Can't I see-"

"No," McCoy interrupted flatly.

"Even if I was sitting dow-"

"No, Jim. He's not going to disappear in a puff of smoke. You both need your rest – when you're recovered you can see him, he'll be here until then, even if I have to strap him to the bed."

"That's a bit extreme even for you, isn't it Bones?"

"Do you want to find out?" McCoy growled.

"I'll be in my room..." Kirk muttered to the room in particular before fleeing the scene in an obvious attempt to escape McCoy's presence.

McCoy snorted in a mixture of exasperation and affection. "Idiot."

"Leonard?"

McCoy turned around to see an insulted eyebrow pointed at the ceiling. "Not you," he sighed, "though come to think of it you might as well be, seeing as you let him out of the room in the first place."

"I apologise, Leonard, however I feel the need to remind you that he has made significant progress with his recovery."

"He's _staying_ in the room," McCoy enunciated, "until I say he can leave."

"Very well."

"Right," McCoy decided. "Before anything else happens, I'm going to check on Snape. I dread to think what he's managed to do in his state..."

Leaving behind a really confused looking Vulcan, McCoy walked back into Snape's room, closing the door quietly behind him. Snape was nowhere to be seen, and McCoy glared heavenwards before stalking over to the bathroom door.

He knocked on it pointedly.

"...Yes?"

McCoy resisted the urge to snort at the confusion in Snape's voice. "You aren't unconscious in there, are you?"

"Obviously not."

There was a pause.

"Are you going to grace us with your presence anytime soon?"

"I can hardly stay holed up in a bathroom for the rest of my life," Snape snapped back.

Silence descended once more, and proceeded to stretch for a further five more uncomfortable minutes.

McCoy cleared his throat. "Are you coming out, then?"

"In a moment."

McCoy rolled his eyes, muttered under his breath, and promptly barged in, earning himself a glare from the Potions Master sitting sprawled on the floor.

McCoy raised his eyebrows back at him. "If you didn't want me to interfere, you should have locked the door."

"There is no lock," Snape replied in annoyance.

McCoy grinned. "Good. So this won't happen again." He walked over and turned the tap off, noticing as he did so that Snape was fully dressed. "At least you didn't get caught with your pants down," he quipped.

Snape's glare intensified. "There is no need to be crude about it."

"You obviously haven't known Jim for long enough if you think _that_ was a crude comment, given the circumstances."

"Given your friend's level of intellect it is hardly surprising that he prides himself on his 'toilet jokes'."

McCoy scowled at him. "Do you want to stay on the floor?"

"That is hardly my first choice," Snape sneered, attempting to lever himself up but failing completely and sinking back onto the cold surface with a displeased expression.

McCoy snorted. "Are you finished failing to stand up?"

"Apparently."

Without further ado, McCoy leaned forwards and wrapped one arm around Snape's back, not missing the stiffening of the form beneath him, and then proceeded to curl the other arm under the Potions Master's legs.

Snape promptly batted his hands away. "I do not need to be carried like a child," he snapped, furious.

"Really?" McCoy drawled, crossing his arms in a worthy imitation of the man before him. "That wasn't the impression I got."

He moved to gather Snape up in his arms again but the Potions Master twitched – if there had been room, he would probably have fled. If he had the strength.

"Would you prefer to _crawl_ back into the room? I tell you, that'll make you look even more like a child."

Snape pressed his lips into a thin line before relaxing slightly, not looking at all pleased at the fact he was allowing himself to be gathered into McCoy's arms and carried back to bed. McCoy resisted the urge to roll his eyes again and picked the man up, noticing as he did so that he was unexpectedly light.

"You know," McCoy said in exasperation, "you really need to do something about that workload of yours."

Snape's brow furrowed in confusion, momentarily distracted from his current position. "My working habits are none of your concern, McCoy. I do not need someone to supervise me or interrogate me in everything I do."

"If you carry on neglecting yourself, then you probably should. You haven't been eating enough."

Snape's face became, if possible, even more closed off. "Perhaps if you were even listening to a word I said," he drawled menacingly, "you would remember that I told you it was none of your concern. Surely even you can remember such simple phrasing."

McCoy ignored the barb. "I'm your doctor."

"How astute," Snape sneered as McCoy placed him gently back on the bed, "however I feel the need to remind you that you are not permanently so and as such these questions are unnecessary."

"So my caring about your well-being is unnecessary?" McCoy repeated incredulously.

"It is. I am thrilled that you have understood the concept so quickly."

"Well, like it or not," McCoy said gently, careful not to put any venom into his voice, "there are people around who do actually care about you."

Snape snorted. "Surely sentimental drivel is not part of your prerogative as my '_Doctor_'."

"No, it's not, which just proves my point," McCoy replied. "Is it so hard to believe that people actually care about you?"

"Given my past...profession," Snape said, lip curling, "it does not seem to be particularly likely. In any case," he added before McCoy could interrupt, "I do not see how this is relevant to anything."

"Did it never occur to you," McCoy elaborated obediently, "that the people who care about you – who work with you – would be willing to help you?"

Snape raised a sardonic eyebrow. "Surely even you realise that they cannot become-"

"I meant," McCoy interrupted, seeing where this was going, "that they could help you with whatever work you do at Hogwarts. Wouldn't that leave you free to do your...other duties?"

"Are you suggesting that I cannot do my job? I assure you," Snape growled, "that there is actually a reason I remain in the Headmaster's employ, and it is not strategic convenience."

"I never said-"

"Perhaps," Snape continued swiftly, "you should not attempt to lecture in areas you have no knowledge about, though I admit your ignorance is at least partially entertaining."

Back to argument, McCoy thought wearily. Just as he was really beginning to get somewhere. "You're a real pain in the ass, do you know that? You just can't accept the fact that you might actually be wrong about something, that maybe not everyone hates you!"

"Did it ever occur to you, McCoy, that you are not infallible yourself?" Snape questioned, throwing McCoy's words back into his face. "Perhaps you failed to notice the fact or simply liked to delude yourself into thinking it was never true?"

McCoy ignored him. "This is getting nowhere." He sighed, looking at the weakened man before him who so stubbornly insisted on hating himself. "But maybe one day you'll realise you're wrong." Before Snape could argue, McCoy had walked out the room, shutting the door softly behind him.

From that point on, McCoy avoided discussing the subject with Snape, knowing he had no hope of winning against the master of intimidation and stubbornness himself, but that did not stop him from subtly trying to show the Potions Master that he was indeed cared for. He would never forget the surprised look on Kirk's face when McCoy had finally relented and allowed him into Snape's room, if only for a few minutes.

Added to the attention he was also receiving from Spock, Madam Pomfrey and Dumbledore, McCoy was surprised the man could still continue to believe everyone hated him. Yet he still seemed to find a way, and it was clear that years of self-recrimination would not be undone after just a few days of McCoy silently battling the subject out with him.

In fact, all this attention seemed to convince Snape that he needed to recover as quickly as possible in order to return both to Hogwarts and to the Death Eaters. Judging by the conversation he'd had with Spock after the mind meld, McCoy did not like to imagine what thoughts of atonement and duty were pushing the man to recovery rather than determination to simply get better.

Yet he did, and alarmingly quickly, as though he had had practice in recovering swiftly after severe injuries, almost as though he believed it was expected of him. Soon, McCoy found himself no longer able to regulate either Snape's or Kirk's activities, and they were roaming the house impatiently despite the irate physician's rants.

It was during one of these rants that the household was graced by an entirely unexpected visitor.

"-_Completely_ irresponsible!" McCoy was yelling at the two unrepentant patients.

"Mr McCoy," Snape said in exasperation, arms folded over his chest and glaring at the aforementioned doctor, "I have rather a lot of work to-"

"Which you can get back to when you've recovered," McCoy said pointedly. "You can't just go sneaking out-"

"LEAVING ME WITH THE BLOOD TRAITOR SCUM!" Mrs Black wailed, having been woken by the commotion in the hallway. Her demented gaze was fixed on Snape. "YOU CAN'T LET THIS HOUSE FALL INTO THEIR HANDS!" She screeched, stamping her foot, hair flying.

Snape remained quiet, apparently amused by the woman's tirade.

"YOU ARE THE ONLY REPUTABLE-"

"Will you stay out of this?" McCoy roared back, having well and truly lost all capability of discussing things rationally. He was beginning to turn red.

"Bones, I thought you agreed with her-"

"Shut up, Jim. Just because I haven't started on you yet doesn't mean you're safe!"

"-MELODRAMATIC BLOOD TRA-"

"Just who the hell are _you_ calling melodramatic, you wailing banshee in drag?" McCoy snapped back.

Mrs Black quivered. "HOW _DARE-_"

"What's going on here?" Sirius asked blearily, clattering downstairs in a dressing gown and looking slightly dishevelled.

"Nothing that concerns you, Black, there is no need to interrupt your precious beauty sleep," Snape sneered.

"-SMELLY LITTLE SHI-"

"Jim here was caught aiding and abetting Professor Snape-"

"I just happened to come across him when he was trying to leave," Kirk interrupted. "I was getting a drink from the kitchen."

"After I told you to get some rest and not wake up too early," McCoy added.

"-TARNISHING MY REPUTATIO-"

"I couldn't exactly help it! It was only going to be quick glass of water – how was I supposed to know you'd wake up and decide to have a midnight feast?"

"Which I never got to do, by the way," McCoy snapped, "because you were both out of bed! The _one_ time I actually have a few quiet seconds to myself to eat something after babysitting you two, and-"

"You haven't eaten anything yet?" Sirius asked in confused concern.

"A completely alien concept to you, Black, I'm sure, given your love for stuffing yourself every few minutes."

McCoy ignored Snape's comment. "No I haven't eaten anything yet! How can I when those two are always acting up?"

"Perhaps a rota would be beneficial," Spock suggested, having finally decided to see what the commotion was about and join them in the hall.

"-NOT EVEN LISTENING TO ME!"

"Why were you trying to sneak out at two in the morning anyway?" McCoy demanded of Snape.

"Surely even you realise that classes cannot go unattended for much longer," Snape replied. "Professor Umbridge has no doubt already become suspicious-"

"Looks like the little spy was caught red-handed," Sirius declared loudly, eying Snape with distrust.

Snape regarded him with equal contempt. "What could I possibly have to gain from 'spying' at this hour?" He demanded.

"You tell me," Sirius replied, "you're supposed to be the expert on Death Eater timetables."

"Performing the duty of spy at this current time would be illogical," Spock interjected for good measure. "Not only are the subjects of information resting-"

"Alright!" Sirius snapped. "I get the idea."

"-WAKING ME UP IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT!" Mrs Black, desperate for attention, continued to screech. "THEN IGNORE ME LIKE SOME COMMON-"

There was a light rapping on the door and Dumbledore popped his head through, smiling brightly before stepping into the house and surveying the scene before him with amusement.

"Ah! A late night gathering in the hallway," he said affably, studiously ignoring the tension, "a rather interesting way of spending the night if I do say so myself."

Mrs Black had turned puce. "_YOU_!" She roared, flapping her arms at Dumbledore in apocalyptic rage. "YOU MEDDLING OLD FOOL OF A WIZARD, COMPLETE DISGRACE-"

"Yes," Dumbledore acknowledged her calmly, "it is pleasant to see you too, Mrs Black, though I must ask that you lower the volume slightly. We don't want everyone to turn deaf, after all."

"I'LL-"

But before she could say anymore, Dumbledore had closed the curtains around her portrait with a sedate flick of his wand.

"I wish you'd teach me how to do that," Sirius grumbled.

"I believe a relocation may be in order," Dumbledore stated, drawing them all into the dingy living room and waiting until they had all sat down before continuing. "It is, as it happens, rather fortunate that you are all awake," he said placidly, "though I gather from the general aura of unrest that this was not a pleasant social gathering."

McCoy snorted. "You could say that again." At Dumbledore's questioning look, he continued. "If I could use chloroform legally to keep them asleep, I would."

Dumbledore nodded knowingly. "Ah, yes, I suspected something of this nature would arise – Severus is a very reluctant patient at the best of times."

"If you knew that you could have warned me!"

"I was 'on the run' as it would happen," Dumbledore informed him. "While I was regularly updated regarding the goings-on at Hogwarts and the situation with its staff, I am unable to risk revealing my location through communicating openly."

From the shared looks of doubt across the room, it was clear that no-one believed him, but the headmaster seemed not to notice.

"Now," he continued, "onto more pressing matters. Severus, I believe it is an appropriate time for you to return to Hogwarts-"

"Finally," Sirius muttered, looking relieved.

"-if, of course," Dumbledore added quickly, seeing McCoy's scowl, "Doctor McCoy believes you are ready for light duty?"

"_Light_ duty?" McCoy repeated, confused.

"I understand that Severus requires time to recover-"

"I am fine."

Dumbledore pretended not to hear him, "-but Professor Umbridge is suspicious. I shall be issuing him with a Time-Turner so that he may make necessary appearances," he turned to Snape and gave him a knowing look, "and I expect you to only use it to teach your OWL and NEWT classes."

"Headmaster-"

"I'm sure that Professor Umbridge shall accept the excuse I will provide you with," Dumbledore continued cheerfully. "Once that is done and Poppy has declared you healthy enough you will, of course, be able to return to full duty."

Snape seemed to accept this proposition, albeit reluctantly. "And the Dark Lord's ranks?"

"Wouldn't want you to abandon _them_ now, would we?" Sirius muttered, glaring at Snape.

Dumbledore gave him a brief warning look before turning back to the Potions Master. "You shall need to make an appearance," he said gently. "They cannot suspect that you were dangerously injured and looked after here."

"They will be so relieved," Snape said drily.

"To the real matter at hand," Dumbledore said, his tone serious. "I have managed at last to perfect the spell which shall return you to your universe. Once Severus has taken care of his duties using the Time-Turner, you will be able to return home."

"Is that why we were broken out of prison?" Kirk asked.

Dumbledore nodded. "You were brought here," he explained before anyone could ask, "because the final details had yet to be finalised and this accommodation is – I am sure you will agree – much more comfortable than both prison and Voldemort's Headquarters."

"Why not just delay our jail break?" Kirk asked.

"The Death Eaters were becoming rather impatient," Dumbledore told him. "Severus was forced into action."

"Fortunately," Snape added, "I was able to convince the more intelligent of the Dark Lord's followers to remain behind in order to continue with research for the counter spell. As a result, I was able to allow you to escape with the Order without my actions appearing suspicious."

"Avery was still there," Sirius spat, "or so you tell the Order. I'd say he was one of the more 'intelligent' of your precious Death Eaters – maybe you really wanted to take them home to Voldemort."

Snape whitened at the name but his anger was directed elsewhere. "I had to allow at least one person of less than debatable IQ to join me!" he snapped. "Without Avery there to keep an eye on the other idiots, the entire scheme would have been obvious!"

"How convenient."

"Sirius," Dumbledore said, "Severus did what was needed. The result is the same and there should be no cause for argument now."

"So where do we go from here?" Kirk asked before Sirius could argue.

The twinkle was once again in the older wizard's eyes. "I do, of course, have a plan…"

oOo

Snape, as it turned out, had finished using the Time-Turner that same day, allowing their plan to be put into action in the late afternoon. The Potions Master remained at Grimmauld Place long enough to discuss the plan with them once more before taking up his position at Hogwarts, leaving them standing in the living room with Sirius and Dumbledore.

"Are you sure this will work?" McCoy asked doubtfully.

Anyone else would have become fed up with the constant worrying and questioning, but Dumbledore seemed to possess eternal patience and good humour. "Positive, my dear doctor."

"I still don't like it."

"There is no direct cause for concern, Leonard."

"What about indirect?" McCoy asked Spock.

"Bones, you're being ridiculous."

"Well forgive me for worrying," McCoy snapped drily, "but as escapades go we don't exactly have a good, injury free record, do we?"

"Whilst that is correct," Spock said, "this endeavour can hardly be classed as an 'escapade'. Therefore, your subject specific concerns may be unprecedented."

"You're forgetting," McCoy growled, "that we're going _back_ into that damn place!"

"At least it's familiar territory," Kirk reminded him cheerfully. "We'll know what to expect, so hopefully we'll avoid surprise related disasters."

"I'm not counting on it."

"You will be quite safe," Dumbledore assured him. "Severus has issued specific orders preventing major injury or death as you shall be needed alive for the spell."

"But that doesn't completely stop attacks!" McCoy pushed.

"Regrettably, no, but Death Eaters are hardly famous for their restraint."

"Great," McCoy muttered, and proceeded to glare at both Kirk and Spock. "But you two stay out of trouble. I'm not patching you up like jigsaws when we get back."

"The same goes for you, Bones."

"I still don't think this is a good idea," Sirius groused, looking far from happy at the turn of events. "What if Snape-"

"I trust Severus completely," Dumbledore replied sharply.

"You could be wrong."

For the first time since the whole discussion began, Dumbledore's expression tightened in annoyance. "We have discussed this many times before, Sirius, but my answer remains the same. Severus can be trusted and no amount of attempted persuasion or argument on your part shall change my mind." His eyes had lost their merriment completely. "Is that clear?"

Sirius nodded stiffly, though he didn't seem happy about it.

"Now," Dumbledore said, turning back to the officers. "I believe this is goodbye."

"I'd like to thank you for your hospitality, Headmaster," Kirk said sincerely. "Without your help, we would have had no chance in getting back."

Dumbledore inclined his head gracefully. "You are quite welcome, my boy."

"It's a shame that Harry, Ron and Hermione can't be here," Sirius said. "I know they'd have wanted to say goodbye before you left."

"Such is the sacrifice when these situations arise," Dumbledore said gravely.

"Could you pass on a message?" Kirk asked Sirius. "To tell them that we wish we could keep in touch – but it would be impossible, since we're from a different universe..."

"I will," Sirius promised.

"Shall I say the same to young Draco Malfoy?" Dumbledore asked Spock, who nodded.

"That will be much appreciated."

"Good," Dumbledore replied. "I know that Draco was angry at the Ministry's treatment of a fellow Slytherin."

"He told you that?" McCoy asked in disbelief, unable to picture the cocky Slytherin confiding in Dumbledore.

The older wizard smiled slightly. "Of course not, but I do pride myself in understanding my students."

"How are you going to tell him?" McCoy asked in confusion, the thought having just occurred to him.

"Oh, I doubt I will be on the run for much longer. In any case," he added mysteriously, "I have my ways." He winked, much to everyone's amusement.

"We should probably get going then," Kirk said finally, standing up.

Dumbledore held out a small trinket, placing it in Kirk's hand. "A Portkey," he explained. "It is of course one way. The activation word is 'arachnid'."

McCoy groaned. "I hate to think why that's the word."

"Purely coincidental, I assure you," Dumbledore said calmly.

McCoy didn't believe him for an instant, but stood and put his finger on the Portkey, next to Spock's. Once Kirk saw that they were all ready, he inclined his head once more in the direction of the two wizards, smiling in gratitude. In reply, Sirius beamed at them and wished them good luck, while Dumbledore raised his hand to wave.

Now grinning broadly, Kirk said loudly and clearly, "arachnid!"

A brief jerk on the navel and bumpy ride in darkness later, and they landed with a thump on a forest floor. McCoy groaned and spat out several leaves, wondering how he'd managed to get them into his mouth in the first place.

"_Definitely_ worse than transporters," he decided, picking himself up and brushing down his clothes.

There was something odd with this scenario, he realised. It was too quiet. Turning around, his suspicions were confirmed when he saw Kirk and Spock backing away from him quickly.

"Hey!" He called out, slightly annoyed. "What are you playing at? We don't have hours to-"

A crunch behind him halted his tirade and he turned around, body tense, fully expecting to see a ring of Death Eaters with wands raised. What he didn't quite expect to see was yet another giant spider looming before him, and a strong sense of déjà vu.

He promptly swore in every language he knew, backing up quickly, terror rising in him as he saw the beast take a step closer.

Heart pounding he found himself crashing suddenly to the floor, the spider coming closer with alarming speed.

"BONES!"

He could just about hear frantic footsteps hurrying back towards him, the panic clouding his hearing. A hair leg hovered just above his head, he could see it inching closer and closer before suddenly his world was engulfed by a blindingly white light followed by a heavy and sickeningly squelchy crash.

He couldn't see anything.

"Bones?" Kirk asked, his voice softer and slightly awed. "Did you do that?"

He refused to open his eyes. "Do what?"

"It would appear that the arachnid is undoubtedly deceased," Spock announced calmly.

"Hagrid won't be happy," Kirk muttered.

McCoy allowed himself to crack open a cautious eyelid. Before him was a giant, hairy mound of very dead spider, its legs spread-eagled everywhere as though it had been smashed on the head by a giant mallet. He opened his other eye and stood up shakily.

"_I_ did that?" He asked, surprised.

Spock nodded, his expression curious to say the least. "You have just enabled us to witness the precise meaning of the words 'passive magic'."

McCoy gaped before laughing in relief. "Well, what do ya know?" He drawled. "Snape was right!"

"Evidently."

"Why did Dumbledore send us here?" McCoy asked, quietly this time in case they were being watched.

"Professor Dumbledore no doubt realised that it would attract attention should we accidentally utilise magic in defence," Spock replied. "He has merely hastened the finale of our expedition."

"Would it kill you to be less formal?" McCoy asked suddenly. "The world could be raining down around your shoulders and you'd _still_ talk like you were at a conference!"

Spock's eyes had taken on a haunted look and McCoy mentally kicked himself. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean-"

Before he could finish, he found himself knocked to the ground, only able to move his eyes. Two other thuds told him that his companions were no better off. As he glanced around him, frantically trying to catch a glimpse of their attackers, several Death Eaters emerged from the trees.

"There!" One of them yelled in triumph. "I _knew_ they'd come back here!"

"Yes," another answered slowly, staring at them through his mask. "It seems our vigil here wasn't completely wasted." He turned back to his fellows. "Go and tell Snape!" He ordered.

Several ran off, eager to please the man in charge, but the man's voice rang out again, harsh in the forest setting. "_One_ of you. Idiots."

He came closer to the three helpless officers, dropping down onto one knee to survey them all at once. "Do you recognise me?" He asked softly, his voice menacing despite the tone. "Avery," he supplied, laughing as their eyes widened. "Yes, you caused me quite a lot of trouble at the Ministry."

"Should we punish them, Master Avery?" One of the Death Eaters asked eagerly, practically hopping from foot to foot in his excitement. "I know a spell that can turn their guts inside out-"

"Do none of you morons actually listen to Snape's orders?" Avery snapped, though his attention was still focused on the three still figures lying on the floor. "We're not supposed to kill them or mortally injure them."

"But we can still hurt them a bit, right?" The same eager voice continued. "I'd like to see them pay for what they did to our Lord."

"Perhaps later," Avery replied, "but not right here. We could be seen at any minute."

Snape ran into the clearing, effectively halting any further protest. McCoy noticed that he had managed to find the time to put on his Death Eater robes, though his mask was dangling from his fingers. He stopped dead when he saw them, eyebrow raising in very convincing surprise.

"Well, well," he drawled, stepping closer to them. "The three runaways have returned."

There were several snickers.

"I have to admit, this makes our job much easier," he continued, smirking at them. "Waltzing into the lion's den does hold a certain advantage. It is a pity that not everyone we seek to capture is as moronic as you three."

If McCoy had been able to open his mouth, he would have given Snape a piece of his mind for the benefit of the surrounding audience, but unfortunately he had to content himself with simply glaring at the man.

"We will apparate to the pre-appointed place," Snape told the group, thankfully having finished his goading for the time being.

There was a long pause while no one moved, and Snape raised an eyebrow at them all.

"Well?" He demanded. "Untie them! Or would you prefer to try to apparate while balancing them in mid-air? While many of you no doubt aspired to joining the circus – a noble profession, I am sure," he smirked, "now is hardly the time to audition."

The Death Eaters obediently freed Kirk, Spock and McCoy, who stood up calmly, making no move yet to escape. They were hopelessly outnumbered.

It was only when a few of the Death Eaters disappeared with a loud and obvious 'pop' and the remainder walked over to them, that they struck. McCoy kicked his attacker as hard as he could, feeling the man double over in pain, a sharp puff of air escaping his lips before he collapsed to the floor.

He ran forwards with a short burst of speed, face contorted in carefully controlled rage as he lunged at Snape, aiming for the man's wand, but was simply knocked back down to the floor by a spell which sent him reeling. He tasted blood in his mouth and inwardly wondered if Snape had to be that convincing.

He heard another yell of pain and glanced around to see Kirk collapse under the force of stunning spell, his wrist at an unnatural angle. Spock by contrast was the only one still standing, though he was slightly hunched and had allowed a hand to clutch the bottom of his chest protectively. A burly looking Death Eater stood beside him, wand pointed at his head, growling slightly.

"That," Snape hissed at them all, "was extremely foolish."

Snape's hand yanked at McCoy's collar, dragging him to his feet, wand still pointed at him in a silent threat of what would happen if he disobeyed, and McCoy forced himself to remain still despite his spinning vision. _Concussion_, he thought immediately, unable to stop his doctor's instincts from coming into play.

Snape snapped a command at the remaining Death Eaters and they all began to apparate, McCoy and Snape one of the last to leave. McCoy soon found himself gasping in another forest clearing with no clue as to where they were, and realised that this must have been the pre-arranged destination that Snape had spoken of.

What looked like the entire body of Voldemort's ranks were assembled in a large circle, apparently having been alerted before Snape joined them in the clearing, masks present and hiding their faces out of respect to the master that they were about to bring back.

McCoy thought he felt Snape's grip tighten slightly on his collar as he dragged him forwards, but it was gone before he could properly register it, and McCoy made contact with the ground, the impact jarring his already painful head wound. Spock shuffled unobtrusively over to him, hand still clutching his ribs.

"Are you injured?" He murmured quietly, eying him with concern.

"Only my head," McCoy replied. "What about Jim?"

"I do not know," Spock replied, the worry evident in his voice, and McCoy marvelled at how much the Vulcan had truly come to care for the captain in the short time they had been here.

Nodding, McCoy attempted to make his way over to Kirk, who was slumped unconscious on the ground a few feet away, but he was knocked back by a powerful curse from Avery, propelling him into Spock and causing them to land in a pile of flailing limbs.

Raucous laughter surrounded them, the Death Eater ranks delighting in this long awaited moment. McCoy painfully picked himself up, glaring at Snape for good measure, who was standing in front of the large circle.

"This afternoon," Snape announced, his usual quiet, velvet tones causing the Death Eaters to fall silent at once, "is history in the making. In a matter of minutes we will finally rid ourselves of these nuisance squibs-"

Several people jeered and Snape gave them an indulgent half smile. McCoy wondered where the man had learned to act so convincingly, but his musings were stopped when the speech resumed.

"-and we shall welcome our Lord as he returns to his rightful place."

There were cheers all around and McCoy shuddered, much to the amusement of some of the masked murderers around him.

"I have, as you all know, managed to lay my hands on the full incantation," Snape purred, self satisfaction lacing his voice. "It seems that Dumbledore," he spat the name, malice coating every syllable, "is not quite as secretive as he would like to believe. Fortunately we do not need _him_ to perform the spell ourselves," he sneered.

There were murmurs of appreciation around the circle.

"Avery," Snape said calmly, "you know what we must do."

Avery nodded and walked over to Kirk, looming over the unconscious figure with malicious intent. He raised his foot in an exaggeratedly slow motion, enjoying the silent anticipation of his fellows, before bringing it into Kirk's side with an echoing impact.

"Hey!" McCoy bellowed, throwing caution to the wind and knowing it would look more convincing if he protested. He leapt to his feet in a sudden burst of energy, rushing to Kirk's side, before finding himself knocked flat on his back, every nerve on fire.

As he squirmed and writhed on the forest floor, he dimly felt hands attempting to hold him still, a familiar, logical voice attempting to reassure him, before the hands were ripped from his side and he was left to face his torment alone. In a dim corner of his mind, it occurred to him that this must be what the Cruciatus curse felt like.

Just as he thought his insides were going to melt into fire, the curse lifted and he heard a drawn out scream – the sound of a wounded animal being torn apart as it still breathed, before the realisation hit him and he clamped his mouth closed. The sound cut itself off immediately.

"It seems you are no better at resisting simple curses than you are at handing homework in on time," Snape sneered from where he had been watching the proceedings. "Yet as always the half-Vulcan excels."

McCoy turned around to follow the gaze of the crowd, noticing as he did so that Spock was silently jerking on the ground, eyes open wide, mouth allowing only sharp pants to betray his pain.

"Let him go!" He yelled at Avery, who seemed to be enjoying himself immensely.

Avery's masked head tilted to one side. "As you wish," he said, and McCoy found himself engulfed in the fiery curse once more, no longer certain of what time it was or even if he was still awake.

An indeterminable period of time later he lay panting on the ground, leaves strewn through his hair and throat burning as though he had just swallowed fire. He saw that Spock was in a similar condition, though his stoic face showed no sign of the pain aside from the eyes which were currently staring past McCoy, locked onto a figure behind them.

It was then that McCoy heard it, the still continuing sound of screaming, the voice not coming from his own throat, and he turned around to see Kirk spinning in mid air, limbs jerking, the Death Eaters taking turns to cast the Cruciatus on him. Snape stood to the side, completely calm, but McCoy could somehow tell that he was poised to intervene before the physical damage became too great.

McCoy tried to yell, tried to shout at them to let his best friend go, but all he could manage was a feeble croak, his voice well and truly pulverised. Above him the sky was beginning to darken into evening and he wondered how long the torture had been allowed to endure.

Finally, Snape stepped forwards, raising his hand imperiously, and the screams of pains stopped as Kirk was dropped unceremoniously back onto the ground, the movement jarring his broken wrist and causing him to hiss as he attempted to right himself.

"Now that the celebration and punishment is over," Snape declared, "let us begin."

Nodding at Avery, he pointed his wand at a spot in the clearing and McCoy found himself being dragged towards it by an invisible rope, the movement causing his limbs to scream, but he forced himself not to make a sound. His body jerked slightly as it impacted with Kirk and Spock.

Avery walked around them to stand opposite Snape, the three prisoners lying in a heap on the floor between the two Death Eaters.

Both wands raised simultaneously, the two Death Eaters began to chant in time, jets of light coming from the ring around them telling McCoy that the remaining Death Eaters were feeding them magic. Smoke began to tinge the edge of his vision and he wondered briefly whether he was losing consciousness or whether the spell was working.

A tingling feeling engulfed him, soothing his injuries slightly, and he glanced up to stare at Snape, who was looking straight at him, his face set in concentration but his eyes slightly warmer than usual, and for the first time it truly hit McCoy that he would never be coming back, that he would never see anyone in this universe again.

The smoke thickened, swirling around them in a cloud, and McCoy saw the Brig materialise around them, barely registering the shocked cries of the crew on duty before blackness took hold of him.

Snape stood in the clearing, staring at his Master in shock for a few moments before hastily throwing himself onto the ground in a deep bow, ignoring the protests deep within him at debasing himself before such a monster.

The Dark Lord glanced around himself in slight confusion before a slow smile spread across his lips, and Snape resisted the urge to shudder as he warily watched the inhuman man from beneath his curtains of greasy hair.

The Dark Lord strode forwards to stand in front of Snape and the Potions Master obediently kissed the bottom of his robes, muttering inane comments about how relieved he was to have his Master back, safe and sound, albeit without a wand.

The Dark Lord chuckled in delight, placing a cold hand on Snape's shoulder to indicate the he no longer had to bow. "You have done well, Severus," he said in his cold high voice as Snape regained his footing, still keeping his head lowered slightly out of respect. "You shall be rewarded for this," he promised.

Snape inclined his head, allowing a small smile to grace his lips though he inwardly wanted nothing better than to cringe at the thoughts of what 'reward' the Dark Lord could have in mind. "You are most generous, my Lord," he said softly, allowing devotion to enter his voice.

"I am," the Dark Lord agreed with no trace of humility, the smile still distorting his face. He clicked his fingers. "I need a wand!"

Several Death Eaters immediately hurried forward to offer theirs and Snape did the same, careful to arrange the appropriate expression of devotion onto his face. He had often seen a similar look from Dobby whenever he served a certain Potter, and he did not relish having to imitate it.

The Dark Lord chuckled. "Not from you, Severus, you have done more than enough in bringing me back here."

He pocketed his wand once more, shielding his mind against his relief. "Yes, my Lord," he said in apparent disappointment.

The Dark Lord chuckled again before turning to select a wand and twirling it in his fingers. Without warning, he span around and aimed it at the young, nameless Death Eater who had accompanied him to the other universe.

"You have not forgotten your impending punishment, I hope," the Dark Lord said, fury tingeing his voice.

The man visibly trembled. "N-no, my Lord."

"Good. _Crucio_."

Snape watched impassively as the man fell to the ground and squirmed, wondering what he could possibly have done to incur the Dark Lord's wrath, but knowing much better than to ask.

"This wand shall suffice," the Dark Lord said after a few moments, eying it with satisfaction. "Though I shall require my own to be mended after those ignorant Muggles snapped it in two," he spat. "Fortunately they were stupid enough to let me keep it, believing it to be a simple stick."

Snape snorted obediently as the Death Eaters laughed at this drastic oversight, but the celebration was abruptly cut short as several curses fire balled into the trees around them. Death Eaters were sent scattering for cover, too cowardly to raise their wands and fight, and Snape twirled around to face the danger even as his Master's eyes glared at it.

Ministry Aurors were trampling through the undergrowth, wands raised high and looking ridiculously sure of themselves.

"This is the Ministry of Magic!" A voice boomed needlessly. "You are under arrest for suspicious magical activity, come out with your wands raised!"

Snape rolled his eyes. He had seen this coming, of course, but the Ministry's way of dealing with things was still undeniably stupid. He quickly shoved his mask over his face, not having had the time to do so until now, and raised his wand, ducking several stunning spells.

Death Eaters fell or fled around him, dropping like flies, and Snape could practically feel the anger radiating of the Dark Lord as he raised his borrowed wand, pointing it fearlessly at the onslaught of Aurors and knocking the entire first row off their feet, sending them flying over the heads of their fellows.

Snape followed his Master's lead and took aim at a few others, knocking them unconscious and seriously wounding some, but not actually killing them. He left that 'privilege' to the Dark Lord, who appeared to be in the mood for it at that moment.

The barrage of Aurors promptly began to flee, shrieking about the Dark Lord's return, and Snape smirked. The Lord in question continued to pick them off one by one as they apparated in a panic, some with Death Eater captives and some alone, until a small crowd of bodies littered the forest floor.

oOo

Fudge paced his office nervously. Today was his day, that was for sure, he thought with a grin on his face as he contemplated the news he had just received. A large surge of magic had been found in an obscure forest and he had immediately sent out a squad of Aurors, intending to arrest the people responsible and publicise the victory. At the moment, the Ministry needed to hold onto every positive story they had, especially after the Azkaban breakout.

It was not enough that they had strengthened security accordingly – the public was still worrying about the escaped Death Eaters – _former_ Death Eaters, he corrected himself hastily – and would hear none of it. It certainly did not help that those three frauds had escaped prison recently, before they could even have a trial, leaving both he and Dolores Umbridge in a very sticky situation indeed as they fended off the press.

The three had disappeared from the country and Fudge could only assume that they had gone abroad to work in collaboration with Dumbledore – wherever the annoying old man was. To be honest, Fudge was fed up. Actually, fed up might have been an understatement, he mused as he glared at an image of Dumbledore's face on the front page of the _Prophet_ before flinging the offending article in the bin.

Dumbledore had just fled Hogwarts, was rumoured to have started a conspiracy against the government and was blatantly trying to usurp Fudge's position, but he still carried more support than the Minister himself. It was as though the public had gone blind, Fudge thought in annoyance as he set fire to the article detailing the Headmaster's fleeing Hogwarts.

He watched it turn to ash with something akin to savage glee. If only Dumbledore himself could have seen that. Even he couldn't joke his way out of a situation like that, Fudge scoffed.

But now it was Fudge's turn in the limelight. Now it was his chance to prove that he was doing something productive to keep the wizarding community safe. With this newest arrest – he was sure that it was a very large gang of troublemakers, going by the conspicuous flow of magic, maybe even Dumbledore's Army itself – he would be exalted as defender of British streets. The public would not dare to try to contradict him anymore, and his position would be more secure than it had ever been.

Oh yes, he was _definitely_ looking forward to this arrest.

As if on cue the Auror in charge of the team he had sent barged through his door, and Fudge did not even care that the man had failed to knock. He took in the man's singed robes and frazzled appearance with rising anticipation – the harder the fight, the more successful the government had been.

He could practically see the headings now – "_Fudge Foils Fugitives_", "_Dumbledore's Dastardly Deeds Undone_". Well, the specifics didn't quite matter yet, he reminded himself as he returned his attention to the man before him.

"Well?" He demanded, barely restraining the excitement he felt bubbling up within him. Alright, he admitted, he sounded euphoric, but who wouldn't?

"It's him, sir," the man stuttered, and Fudge noticed for the first time that his skin was completely white and streaked with blood in places.

He didn't have a good feeling about this. "_Who?_"

"H-H-H-"

Now he was definitely worried. Standing before him was a man he could trust not to crumble, a man who could stay together even if his own property was burning down with all his worldly possessions inside. Here was a man who was fearless, who rose to every occasion and who never failed.

And he was stuttering like a lost schoolboy.

"Well?" Fudge repeated, trying not to sound scared. "Spit it out, man!"

"It's _him_," the Auror repeated unhelpfully.

"I'll need a little more information than that," Fudge snapped. "Did you get him?"

The man gaped at Fudge as if he'd gone mad. "G-get him, sir?"

Fudge sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Just tell me what happened," he said wearily.

"We apparated to the source, sir," the man said shakily, collapsing into a chair without invitation, smearing it with dirt, "and went through the normal process, 'wands out' and all that..."

"Yes, yes, yes," Fudge said impatiently, "I'm familiar with the idea. Go on."

"Well, sir, we er – hit a problem."

Fudge began to turn cold. This man never euphemised anything. "A problem?" He echoed, now well and truly unsettled. It couldn't be...

"He was there, sir," the man gulped. "With all his followers. H-He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named...he's..."

"Don't tell me he's back," Fudge snapped, staggering backwards and sitting on top of his desk, not noticing that he had sat on top of his pot of ink which was now happily soaking through his robes.

The man nodded furiously, looking shaken. "He is, sir. I swear on Merlin's grave – it was him. He was just standing there – he knocked down almost half my team."

Fudge took a moment to absorb this. He could _not_ be back. He couldn't be, not after all of Fudge's assurances to the public that Dumbledore and Potter were spouting more rubbish. It would make him look like a fool. An incompetent idiot. No, he would not allow him to be back.

"Did you capture any of his Death Eaters?"

The man frowned in confusion, clearly not seeing the importance of this in relation to the bigger issue. "Yes, sir, we captured seven."

"Good," Fudge muttered absently, staring into the bin where the charred remains of the paper he had burnt earlier stared up at him mockingly. "In that case, he is not back."

"Sir?"

"You heard me!" Fudge shouted, in his panic not realising that he had raised his voice. "He is _not_ back! This was a hair brained ritual of former Death Eaters, and we captured them all! If any of them were involved in the Azkaban breakout, then we can also use that information to our advantage, but under _no circumstances_ are you to tell the public that he's back!"

"But sir," the Auror protested, "the public needs to kno-"

"We don't know anything for sure," Fudge snapped angrily. "For all we know this could be another of Dumbledore's stupid ruses to try to take my position. _None of this gets out_, do you hear me? _None of it_!"

"I..." The man cut himself off at Fudge's furious expression. "Yes, sir," he said eventually. "I'll get the survivors from my team to sign papers attesting to their secrecy, sir."

"See that you do," Fudge commanded, dismissing the man from his office with a wave of his hand and moving around to sit behind his desk.

This was _not_ his day, he decided as he plopped his head down onto the table, right back into the puddle of spilled ink.


	42. Natural Slytherins

**42. Natural Slytherins. (Contains slash)**

McCoy awoke blearily to the sound of Doctor M'Benga giving Kirk a thorough dressing down for attempting to leave his bed. Turning his head to the side and celebrating briefly at the fact that it no longer hurt, though it did feel slightly leaden, he opened his eyes to watch the scene unfolding before him, for once glad that he wasn't involved. There were just so many times he could argue with the reluctant Captain before getting fed up.

"You only got back 6 hours ago!" M'Benga was saying, much more calmly than McCoy would, he grudgingly admitted. "You can't get up and about just yet."

And suddenly, it hit him. They were back – they'd made it. McCoy grinned in giddy relief, not even bothering to hide his joy at being back on the Enterprise and away from the confusing world of magic which they had encountered.

"I need to call Star Fleet," Kirk explained patiently, standing with his arms crossed. His posture was only slightly slumped – a sign that he was weak but not weak enough to be bedridden.

Deciding that this boded well for him, since they had suffered similar injuries, McCoy sat up in bed, feeling pleasantly surprised at the fact that he felt no real pain – only a slight soreness and stiffness of limbs. He promptly swung his legs off the side of the bed and stood up, walking slowly over to the arguing pair.

"We've been unconscious for 6 hours?" McCoy asked without any preamble.

M'Benga looked thoroughly exasperated. "Yes. Doctor, I ask that you both get back into bed – you know how bad your injuries were."

"I must have missed that part," McCoy said wryly. "I was too busy being unconscious."

M'Benga immediately assumed a lecture stance, for the moment sidestepping the issue of them being out of bed without permission. McCoy couldn't help thinking that this man was handling the situation with much more restraint than he himself would.

"You, Doctor, had a severe concussion and damage to your nervous system. It took us several hours under the tissue regenerators for your injuries to heal, though there is still some soreness. That will take a while to pass."

"And Jim?" McCoy asked, resisting the urge to sarcastically remind M'Benga that he was a doctor _too_ damn it and understood all the implications.

"Broken wrist, several broken ribs and the same extent of nerve damage. We also subjected him to the regenerator treatment," M'Benga added, "but the injuries will remain tender for a few days at least. Which is why," he said pointedly, "he is supposed to be in bed!"

"And Spock?" McCoy questioned finally, stopping Kirk's retort.

"He slipped into a Vulcan Healing trance before he reached Sick Bay," M'Benga replied. "He awoke from it an hour ago, slightly weak but otherwise completely healed." He gave them both a searching look. "What happened to you, wherever you went?"

Kirk chuckled. "You'd never believe us even if we told you, but I have to get to Star Fleet to clear this up," he pressed, an unusual amount of seriousness in his tone. "If what you told me is correct, then the whole crew could be facing charges, not just us."

"The whole crew?" McCoy repeated in confusion, glancing at M'Benga for confirmation. "What happened?"

"Scotty decided to stay here looking for us," Kirk explained quietly, nodding his head in the direction of another bed.

With a jolt, McCoy recognised the figure of the Chief Engineer stretched out on the soft mattress, sound asleep. The man looked exhausted; lines seemed to have embedded themselves into his face and there were the beginnings of dark shadows under his eyes. IV lines were feeding nutrient supplements into his arms to combat the weight loss he seemed to have suffered, while another line fed him blood.

"Scotty?" McCoy gaped. "What _happened_ here?"

"It's a long story," M'Benga said. "I suggest you both sit down. We'll go to my – your," he amended at seeing McCoy's scowl, "office. We can't risk waking Mr Scott."

Feeling a small knot of apprehension forming in his stomach, McCoy followed M'Benga, leaning in to whisper to Kirk. "Where's Spock?"

"He's helping with repairs in the science lab, from what I've been told," Kirk replied equally quietly.

McCoy rolled his eyes. "He really doesn't waste any time getting back into the thick of things, does he?"

"I wouldn't have it any other way," Kirk said, grinning.

McCoy pretended to gag. "You promised me you wouldn't go all mushy on him."

Kirk raised his hands as he sat in a chair, ignoring M'Benga's confused expression. "Sorry."

"Alright," McCoy said, settling down too, "I'll forgive you this time, but be warned."

M'Benga sat opposite them, in McCoy's chair, the surgeon realised with another jolt, but he wasn't about to say anything. Clearly there had been a lot of changes since they disappeared from the Bridge several months ago.

"So what happened?" Kirk asked brusquely, managing to both look and sound commanding despite the fact he was dressed in Sick Bay slacks.

M'Benga suddenly looked very tired. "At first, we were simply occupied with searching for you and trying to hold of Star Fleet's enquiries. It was no easy feat, but Admiral Pike is to thank for the fact that there has been no public report yet."

Kirk nodded, urging the doctor to continue.

"A short while later, during the time that Mr Scott was interrogating the people who took your place-"

"Voldemort and his cronies," McCoy interjected.

M'Benga's eyebrows rose. "You know them?"

"They were...famous in the universe we ended up in," Kirk hedged. "We'll tell everyone about that later. Firstly, I need to know what's happened aboard my ship."

M'Benga nodded. "During the time he was interrogating them," he resumed, "I noticed that he began to act as though he was exhausted – more so than he had been before," he clarified. "He denied it, of course."

"Of course," McCoy snapped. "When does anyone on this ship actually tell their doctor anything?"

"Then what?" Kirk asked.

"I asked the Bridge crew to keep an eye on him. Lieutenant Uhura mentioned that he appeared more distracted than usual, sometimes as though he was locked in a daydream, but there didn't seem to be anything physically wrong."

"Locked in a daydream?" McCoy asked, medical instincts whirring.

"They sometimes had trouble snapping him out of it," M'Benga continued. "Yet he still refused to come down to see me, until the problem got so bad that he was losing much of his sleep."

"I think everyone's been around Jim for too long."

"You gave him sleeping pills?" Kirk asked, ignoring McCoy's barb.

"I did, but they only seemed to work for a day or two. Apparently, the visions happened even when he was drugged."

McCoy jerked upright. "He was having _visions_?" His thoughts immediately flew to Harry. "Was Voldemort breaking into his mind?"

"No, it was nothing like that. We had no idea what it was at first. Whenever I asked him, he refused to tell me. Eventually he did, after it was all over."

"After _what_ was all over?" McCoy asked, beginning to lose patience.

"The ship was attacked by a Gaaran female," M'Benga said calmly.

Kirk almost launched himself out of his seat. "How bad is the damage?" He asked, contenting himself with simply perching on the edge of his chair, his eyes intently focussed upon M'Benga's face.

"I'm no mechanic," M'Benga replied, "but I know they're bad. I don't know the exact details but we've been assigned a watchdog ship until we can get enough power to get to a Star Base for trial."

"Trial?" McCoy echoed.

"We maintained radio silence with Star Fleet while we searched for you – the entire crew was determined not to give you up without a fight, and Star Fleet was trying to order us to the other side of the galaxy for a new mission."

"That makes sense," Kirk said. "What went wrong?"

"We were apprehended by a Gaaran battle cruiser captained by a Gaaran named Ehlette."

"Ehlette?" Kirk asked in confusion. "I've never heard of her."

"Mr Scott never told anyone of her," M'Benga explained. "From what he's told me while he's been here, Ehlette was the sister of Tohn."

"Why does that name sound familiar?" McCoy muttered.

"Because," Kirk explained, apparently understanding where this was going, "he was the Gaaran who was discharged from the Academy after assaulting cadets and professors. Mentally."

"I thought mental assault was strictly illegal!"

"It is among Vulcans," M'Benga replied. "The Gaarans had no such rule until Tohn's actions were discovered. He was tried and imprisoned for years before being released and sent to a rehabilitation colony."

"What has this got to do with Ehlette?" McCoy asked. "And Scotty's visions?" He added.

"Ehlette blamed Mr Scott for her brother's imprisonment – Mr Scott was a close family friend and gave no evidence to support him. He gave no evidence at all, in fact, and Ehlette blames him for it. Mr Scott tells me that she felt his lack of support drove Tohn to insanity."

McCoy's eyebrows creased. "It sounds like he was already on his way," he commented.

"In my opinion, he was," M'Benga agreed, "but Ehlette was unwilling to admit to it. The close mental link she shared with her brother drove her insane with thoughts of revenge until she finally came after him."

"Attacking the ship in the process," Kirk finished.

M'Benga nodded, confirming Kirk's conclusion. "She thought it would make the best revenge."

"What about the visions?" McCoy asked. "If they weren't from Voldemort, who _were_ they from."

"Ehlette," Kirk guessed.

"She plagued him with memories of his time with Tohn," M'Benga explained. "She used it to wear him down before attacking the ship. When he finally came face to face with her, he was truly exhausted from sleep deprivation and stress."

"What happened to her?" Kirk asked.

"She was killed in the battle between our ships. She abducted the man you call Voldemort and his subordinates – Mr Scott beamed aboard with Chekov to get them back. He thought it would help your return."

"He was right," Kirk murmured. "Chekov?"

"He sustained no injuries."

"Ehlette's ship?"

"Star Fleet sent help in response to our distress signal. The ship is defeated and the crew has been transferred to the nearest Star Base by shuttle craft, Captain."

"So there's no more danger?" McCoy asked warily.

"Not that we're aware of."

"Good," Kirk replied. "All we have left to do now is delay repairs until we can come up with a line of defence."

"You're not considering _fighting_ Star Fleet, are you Jim? Especially not with a ship guarding our every move?" McCoy squawked.

"I'm not going to fight them, Bones. I'm just going to appeal to the two most Slytherin people we know; Ambassador Sarek and Spock. Both of them," he clarified with an amused smile.

M'Benga looked confused. "There are two Spocks?"

"It's a long story," Kirk said, waving his hand dismissively, "and there's no real time to explain it now. But I need to use the computer to contact them," he told the doctor, "or we go into trial unprepared."

M'Benga seemed to ponder this for a moment, looking them up and down with a practiced physician's eye before nodding. "Alright," he conceded, "but don't overdo it," he said sternly, exiting the room to give them some privacy.

McCoy scowled. "You'd think people kept forgetting I'm a Doctor," he grumbled.

"Now you know how I feel whenever you keep ranting at me."

"I actually have a reason to rant at you. In this case, we've just got a few aches and bruises left over – there's no point confining us here."

"Whatever you say, Bones. You doctors are all alike, you just don't want to admit it," Kirk grinned, before reaching over and pressing a switch. "Mr Spock?"

"Yes Captain?" Spock replied, voice formal.

"You're needed in Sick Bay, if you can be spared from repairs. Meet me in Doctor McCoy's office as soon as you can."

"I shall be there shortly, Captain."

"Back to being formal, are we?" McCoy asked wickedly.

Kirk shrugged. "We're on duty. We have to keep up a certain image."

McCoy snorted. "Right."

Kirk ignored him, already typing in the numbers used to access the terminal to the people he needed to talk to.

A few minutes later the door to the office opened to admit Spock, dressed in his usual uniform with not a single hair out of place or anything to hint at what had happened only hours ago aside from the fact that his posture was slightly less rigid.

"Captain, Doctor," he greeted, inclining his head formally. "You wished to see me?"

McCoy looked him up and down, looking slightly annoyed. "You never let anything phase you, do you?"

"It is logical to look presentable at all times, Doctor."

"We're in private, Spock," McCoy reminded him in amusement. "You can call us by our names, you know."

Spock seemed to relax a bit as he took a chair and sat down. "Very well," he replied. "Why did you wish to see me, Jim?"

"We're going to have a political fight with Star Fleet on our hands at any time," Kirk replied, "and it's best to be prepared." He swivelled the screen around so that Spock could see it. "Meet," he announced with a flourish, "your older self!"

Spock looked unimpressed by the older Vulcan staring back at him and merely raised an eyebrow at Kirk. "I have already done so," he said flatly.

Kirk deflated visibly. "Oh."

The older version of Spock chuckled slightly, causing younger Spock to raise his eyebrows even further. "I admit I was not entirely truthful with you, Jim."

"You implied the universe would implode if you two ever met."

McCoy snorted. "And you believed that?"

Kirk looked slightly sheepish. "For all I knew Vulcans couldn't lie," he said pointedly, directing his gaze at Spock Prime.

"For all intents and purposes we prefer not to," the older Vulcan replied obediently, "however that is not to say we are physically incapable. We prefer to use the term misdirection or omission."

"Right," Kirk replied, "so as long as you use those words you aren't _technically_ lying."

Spock Prime twinkled, reminding them momentarily of Dumbledore. "Precisely."

Younger Spock sighed slightly. "Perhaps we should proceed?"

Kirk cleared his throat. "Ok. You wouldn't happen to know where Ambassador Sarek is, would you?" He asked Ambassador 'Selek'.

"He is with me – I shall fetch him."

The older Vulcan disappeared from the screen.

"The universe would _implode_?" McCoy repeated, unable to stop himself.

Kirk scowled at him, but there was no malice in the action. "You're never repeating that to anyone."

"Oh, I think I might consider it."

"Bones..."

McCoy held up his hands. "Alright, your secret is safe."

Ambassadors Spock and Sarek appeared on screen. Sarek looked visibly surprised to see the three officers before him – so much so in fact, that he actually allowed his mouth to open a miniscule amount before promptly shutting it again, the Vulcan equivalent of gaping in shock.

"I see you have returned," he said evenly, though he could not hide the relief shining in his eyes as he caught sight of Spock sitting next to them unharmed. "It is gratifying to discover that you have not permanently disappeared."

Kirk grinned. "We're very pleased with that as well, Ambassador."

"Am I correct in assuming that this is not a social call informing me of your presence in this universe?"

"You are," Kirk replied. "We realise that Star Fleet is going to be calling for our blood after such a long disappearance."

Spock Prime looked amused. "I understand what you are asking Jim, and I assure you that our services shall be readily available."

Kirk smiled in open relief. "I really appreciate this," he replied politely. "There's no knowing how Star Fleet will react to our return."

"Do they know?" Spock Prime asked.

"Not yet," Kirk said impishly. "I thought we might have an advantage if we surprised them."

"How very Slytherin," Spock murmured, apparently not realising he had said it until he was fixed with four incredulous stares. "Forgive me," he said, louder this time, the tips of his ears turning slightly green.

Spock Prime smiled at them, the action more open than his younger counterpart would ever allow. "It appears that this was one mission which I would have enjoyed. Purely from a scientific perspective, of course," he added. "From what Jim tells me, the presence of magic in that universe was extremely fascinating."

Sarek's eyebrows sky-rocketed. "Magic?"

Kirk laughed again. "It's a long story, Ambassador. If I call Star Fleet now, it might save me from recounting it twice."

"That is logical."

It took five minutes to reach Star Fleet, with all the questioning from anyone who passed on their call, but they were finally rewarded with the sight of Admiral Pike's face swimming into view, feeling relieved that he was dealing with their call rather than some of the more questionably motivated Admirals.

Pike did actually gape in shock for several moments before remembering that he was also in the presence of two Vulcan Ambassadors. "Well," he said finally, "this is a surprise."

"Did you miss us?" Kirk asked cockily.

Pike smiled. "You wouldn't even begin to imagine how quiet my life has been without your almost daily predicaments. So," he leaned forwards, "what happened? Why don't we start from the top."

"It's very...strange," Kirk said, addressing everyone who jockeyed for space on the view screen. "Judging from your reaction to seeing us, I'm guessing you knew we disappeared."

"No kidding."

"Do you believe in magic, Admiral?" Kirk asked, plunging right in at the deep end.

Pike's eyes widened even more, if that was at all possible, and he looked at them all as though doubting the solidity of their mental states. "Of course not, it doesn't exist."

"Not in this universe," Spock said, making Pike's eyebrows tie into a knot of confusion. "We were involved in an accident which transpired in another, magical universe. It cause a temporary rift between our timelines and caused us to journey to the area of origin – twentieth century Earth."

"Where magic existed," McCoy added helpfully.

"I...see."

"It is true," Spock informed him.

Pike didn't look so sure. "Yes, well...if I have a Vulcan before me – a reliable one, at that – promoting the existence of magic, I suppose I have no choice but to accept it. What do you think, Amabassadors?"

"We believe their transcript of events thus far," Sarek replied.

Pike looked as though he wanted to either laugh at the absurdity of the situation or run away screaming. "So that explains why no one could find you."

"Precisely," Kirk replied. "As you're probably also aware, several people from their universe were transferred here in our place."

Pike nodded. "Mr Scott did mention something to that effect."

"We were forced to stay there for several months until they managed to find a counter-spell, which they performed, and now here we are," Kirk summarised. "The intricate details will really take too long, but that's essentially what happened."

Pike nodded. "I see," he murmured. "Do you have any evidence of this happening?"

"Aside from the fact that we disappeared from the face of the...well, ship," McCoy replied, "and several stick wielding maniacs suddenly appeared?"

"Yes."

"No," McCoy said. "But those moments should be on video record."

"We have yet to be sent your security tapes," Pike told them. "We have barely heard from your ship for months. Mr Scott is facing serious charges for that."

"I am aware of that, sir," Kirk replied politely, "but surely that would create bad publicity?"

Pike grinned, clearly catching the hint. "It would."

"In addition," Sarek added, "punishing three officers who previously saved the planet from destruction would no doubt create tension among the population of the Federation." He raised a significant eyebrow. "Vulcan would be less than pleased with the news that harsh disciplinary action was taken on them, even more so when it is considered that one of them is a member of an endangered race."

Pike nodded, his expression sly. "There is of course the question of what they were doing the entire time."

This time it was Spock Prime who piped up. "As there is little evidence for the entire fiasco except for limited conversations-"

"With an admiral known for paranoia," Pike added.

"-and unreliable security videos which were, of course, destroyed in the battle with the Gaaran ship," Spock Prime continued, "the entire scenario is reduced to little more than a rumour."

"Has it yet been publicised?" Spock asked.

Pike shook his head. "Star Fleet wanted to be sure of its facts before it gave any information to the press. Added to that the fact that we're still struggling to rebuild the Federation, the Admirality didn't want to seem less than on top of things. The news of your rogue ship and the disappearance of three well known heroes remained unknown. To do otherwise would be to invite bad public opinion."

"Which of course cannot be worsened with the entire thing being revealed through public trial," McCoy continued, catching on.

Pike nodded, grinning fully. "Precisely. We will of course have to punish you in some way – such actions cannot be allowed to go free."

Kirk nodded. "We understand that, sir. What did you have in mind?"

"A reduction of your shore leave time to half of what it was," Pike said, "the necessity in finishing all the paperwork you missed and being sent to an extremely tedious diplomatic conference to support the Federation. We've been looking for appropriate candidates for a while, but no one seems willing enough to look convincing."

"Those punishments are acceptable," all three Vulcans announced simultaneously, causing the humans to blink.

"But be warned, Captain," Pike said, his tone abruptly, serious, "I won't be able to get Star Fleet's most famous officers off the hook every time. There will come an occasion where you will be left to deal with another Admiral – a less lenient and friendly one," he added without a trace of humility.

Kirk smiled but kept his voice serious in reply. "I understand, Admiral Pike."

"Good. I will of course do my best to outline this argument to the rest of the Admirality, since they do of course have to be consulted, but I have no doubt that everything will work out as we have planned."

"Thank you," Kirk said sincerely, inclining his head slightly.

"It had better not happen again," Pike warned, giving Kirk a very stern glare. "They're itching for a reason to bust you back to Ensign once everyone's got over the publicity surrounding Nero."

"I'll do my best to keep everyone in order," Kirk answered wryly.

"What about the Ehlette fiasco?" McCoy asked suddenly.

"Ah," Pike said. "Mr Scott's actions were commendable – there was very little loss of life and he performed as well as he could in that situation. I doubt there will be any serious punishment for him. In fact, he has helped rid Star Fleet of yet another political problem."

McCoy glanced at the closed door without being able to stop himself, Scott's face filtering back into his mind. "I wouldn't exactly call it that."

"No," Pike agreed, "but that is how Star Fleet will see it. The matter regarding the Gaaran Ehlette will be resolved when Mr Scott is fit enough to return to duty."

"Thank you, Admiral," they chorused and Pike gave them a slightly weary wave before turning off the com at his end, the area where his face had been turning blank.

McCoy sat back in his chair, the relief and exhaustion after their narrow escape bubbling over to make him laugh uncontrollably. He didn't even care that he was getting stared at – it was just so good to know that everything was back to normal.

"What?" Kirk demanded when McCoy's hysterics had died down a bit.

"It's just occurred to me," McCoy explained, "that Vulcans are natural Slytherins."

Kirk's amused laughter joined with his own to echo around the small room and even Spock allowed himself a half smile. But as they laughed, they couldn't help but wonder what was happening in the wizarding universe at that moment, and they couldn't help that regret that their own return had meant the continuation of what would be a long and bloody war.

"So," McCoy sputtered after several minute of laughter on the part of the two humans, and amused grins on behalf of the Vulcans, "are you going to tell them, Jim?"

That sobered Kirk up. "Tell them what?" His voice indicated that he had a sneaking suspicion of what McCoy was talking about, but was yet unsure.

"You know," McCoy said, voice becoming knowing and slightly mischievous, "a certain discussion in the Room of Requirement followed up by a certain idiot of a captain knocking himself into a coma?"

"I didn't knock myself into a coma!" Kirk protested.

"Stop avoiding the issue," McCoy crowed. "Tell them!"

Now both Vulcans were giving them curious looks, and Spock was beginning to look as distinctly uncomfortable as Spock could look.

"Captain?" Sarek asked as politely as his curiosity would allow. There was an underlying tone of command to it, and Kirk actually gulped slightly, his skin reddening.

"Well," he stuttered, throwing Spock a lost look, "I...uh...I mean, we..." he trailed off once he caught sight of the Ambassadors' raised eyebrows.

"What Jim is so eloquently trying to say," McCoy said in amusement, looking Sarek in the eye and ignoring Kirk's frantic signals to shut up, "is that in several months you might end up attending both a Vulcan and human wedding."

There was a pregnant silence.

"_Bones_!"

"_Someone_ had to tell them the good news," McCoy said, almost laughing at his friends' blushing faces. "You were beating about the bush too much."

"There was a _reason_ I was beating around the bush," Kirk hissed, "and that was because I didn't know how to phrase it! I'll tell you one thing – what you said wasn't what I had in mind!"

"I deduce from that statement that you do not plan on bonding yourself to my son?" Sarek asked with a completely straight face.

Kirk went even redder. "Well," he coughed, giving Spock another quick glance to find that the Vulcan was avoiding eye contact, "it's too soon to tell, Ambassador, but I do...erm," he hesitated slightly, suddenly uncomfortable about admitting to his feelings in front of his First Officer's father, "love him," he concluded lamely.

Spock Prime, to their surprise, chuckled lightly. "It is gratifying to learn that the future has come to pass, albeit earlier than expected."

Kirk and McCoy gaped, but it was Kirk who spoke. "It...it is?"

Spock Prime nodded. "It is," he replied.

McCoy turned the full force of his shocked expression to Sarek, who looked completely serene. "Did you know about this, Ambassador?" he demanded, almost forgetting to keep his tone civil.

Sarek nodded, a small smile lurking about his lips. "I did of course question Ambassador Selek on the topic of the future of my son. It is, after all, my prerogative as his father."

"You knew?" Spock asked sharply, staring at his father.

"Would you prefer that I remained in ignorance of the fact?"

"Well..." Kirk said slowly when Spock failed to answer, "it _would_ have made this conversation a lot harder..."

"Are you kidding?" McCoy squawked. "I was _trying_ to make it awkward!"

Spock Prime raised his eyebrows. "I see that nothing has changed."

"Damn right it hasn't!" McCoy replied, grinning this time. "I thought it would be funny."

Kirk grinned smugly at him. "Looks like it backfired on you, Bones. But if you'd like to make the situation more awkward, I can help you there."

And with that he leaned over to Spock, who had drawn back slightly, mouth agape, to stare at the oncoming human in shock. As Kirk came closer, Spock stiffened into an almost statuesque representation of himself, ears turning steadily greener and greener, the colour travelling across his face until he closely resembled an old fashioned drawing of a pixie.

His eyes darted from McCoy, to Sarek, to his older self and back again, making him look like a trapped animal. "Jim..."

Kirk, with a huge grin on his face, proceeded to grab Spock on one shoulder and lightly tug on one pointed ear until Spock had no choice but to lean forwards. Ignoring the continued frantic pleadings and horrified expression on McCoy's face, Kirk planted his lips firmly on Spock's, taking great care to make it as obscenely obvious as possible.

What followed was what resembled a female slap fight as Spock frantically tried to simultaneously unplug his lips from Kirk's and swat the human's hands away from his zip. After a few milliseconds of this, during which Spock Prime's smile widened knowingly – which McCoy pretended not to notice – Spock seemed to resign himself to his fate and returned the kiss, adding a strange touching of the fingers.

Which he then proceeded to stroke, causing Kirk to go beetroot red. McCoy decided that he really _really_ didn't want to know what that was, especially if it made that certain captain, notorious womaniser, turn red.

"ALRIGHT!" McCoy bellowed, shattering the moment and causing the two kissers to break apart in shock. "I GET THE POINT! You have succeeded in making this situation awkward – are you happy?"

Spock settled back in his seat, looking slightly dazed. "Extremely."

Kirk promptly burst into a laughing fit so strong that it could not be broken for several long minutes, especially when he caught sight of McCoy's thunderstruck expression.

"Damn it Jim," McCoy whispered, unable to erase the image from his eyeballs, "you _promised_ you wouldn't ever do that in front of me..."

"No I didn't," Kirk gasped.

"Well you should have!" McCoy snapped back. He turned his accusing gaze on Spock. "Didn't it even occur to you that you were doing this in front of your _father_ and _yourself_ of all people?"

Spock nodded sagely. "That did occur to me Leonard, which led to my initial reluctance. However, the only adverse reaction to the situation would appear to be yours."

"Adverse..." McCoy spluttered, incapable of any more coherent thought.

"I must admit," Spock Prime said with the air of someone who was about to make matters for McCoy much worse, "that I do not remember the first kiss between Jim and I occurring in that fashion."

"Oh God," McCoy groaned, clamping a hand over his ears. "Oh _God_..."

Sarek was clearly struggling not to break into a full blown smile. "Your covert tactics of causing situations to disintegrate leave much to be desired," he said simply.

"_Oh God_..." was McCoy's only reply.

"Well," Kirk said with a significant grin at Spock, "since that was such a success, do you feel like doing it again?"

"_Not here damn it_!" McCoy yelled in desperation, eyes widening as the two began to move closer together with exaggerated slowness.

Finally having had enough, he jumped to his feet and proceeded to rifle through his desk drawers, producing a spare empty hypo which he pretended to load, out of Kirk's sight, before lifting it up.

"I warned you, Jim."

He flung himself forwards, chasing a stunned and frightened Kirk from the room before he could kiss Spock again. Spock turned back to face the two Vulcan Ambassadors with an apologetic expression over his features, though a slight curve to his lips betrayed his happiness.

"I apologise..."

"It is inconsequential," Sarek said simply, allowing himself to give his hand a small wave to brush the apology aside. "I am, however, pleased that you have managed to enter a relationship with your captain."

Spock appeared slightly shocked by this easy approval, but ducked his head gratefully.

"-NO KISSING IN MY SICKBAY!" McCoy could be heard screeching from the other room. "HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO TELL YOU?"

Spock Prime chuckled again. "That seems familiar," he said quietly, his eyes lost in the past.

"In any case," Sarek said, bringing everyone back to the present and ignoring the odd comment, "I believe it would be wise to allow you to diffuse the situation."

Spock's lips twitched. "That shall indeed be a rather long and arduous procedure," he agreed, raising his hand into the customary farewell. "Live long and prosper," he said respectfully, schooling his features back to their usual impassive nature even as the other two Vulcans did the same.

"Peace and long life," the intoned, and the screen went dark.

Allowing himself a brief sigh where he knew no-one could hear him, Spock levered himself from his chair and walked towards the door, hearing as he did so the noise level raise abruptly. Nothing had changed in their travel to the other universe, he reflected as he saw a ranting McCoy brandishing an empty hypo at a sheepish Kirk. He moved forwards to take his customary role as the logical mediator, noticing as he did so that Scott was standing at the doorway, having ripped out his IVs in his hurry to watch the scene unfolding before him, a wide smile of relief spreading under his nose.

Nothing had changed at all, and for that Spock was supremely grateful, even if he refused to admit it.

**The End. **


End file.
